


The Big Store

by CaptainMercy42



Category: Marx Brothers (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Chico!Dean, Comedy, Complete, F/M, Harpo!Gabriel, M/M, Mute Gabriel, No Impala, Romantic Comedy, because it didn't exist, groucho!Cas, liberties with history, marx brothers - Freeform, movie rip off, physical comedy, the big store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainMercy42/pseuds/CaptainMercy42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This high-steppin' 1930's comedy has the Winchesters dodging insults, bullets, and insinuations of homosexuality, without ever missing a chance to dance and sing like vaudevillian darlings.<br/>Sam Winchester is about to make it to the big time as a velvet-voiced singer.  Dean is the ever-supportive older brother with a few mostly harmless secrets hanging in his closet. But there's danger afoot that can only be foiled with the help of a wry PI and his mute cousin, Gabriel.<br/>All that, plus hot dames who know their weapons!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ellen comes a knockin'

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to someday turn this into a real movie script.  
> If you're a fan of Dean's funny face reactions then you'll enjoy this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  ~ FANTASTIC ART BY Mycolour

Castiel J. Flywheel was a two-bit detective who graciously allowed his mute cousin, Gabriel to assist on his investigations.  He could hardly pay the man, but Gabriel was dumb, not an idiot.  He would occasionally do other odd jobs during their down time while skillfully ignoring Castiel's brooding silences or bouts of sarcastic self-loathing.  

Castiel wasn't really a detective, at heart.  He was drafted at 18, and had made a very good soldier.  But by the end of the war he had grown weary of the regimented life. Once he was thrown back into society, he tried a few regular jobs and discovered he now had a serious problem with authority.  It didn't work for him unless he had it, absolutely.  So why not strike out on his own and make his own fortune?

What possessed him to become a private eye is the mystery he would never solve.  Though he was more than competent scientifically he tended to come off a little stiff when meeting new people.  This aloof quality was dulled slightly by Gabriel's charming innocence, but it still managed to cut many of his interrogations short.

Oh well.  He was good with a firearm.  He kept fit.  Ladies young and old seemed to appreciate his appearance before he managed to put them off with his behavior.  That had to count for something.

He scanned the newspaper for new leads or a break in an old cold case.  His eyes wandered over boring headlines and landed in the funnies, where they proceeded to glaze over.

An abrupt knock brought him out of his reverie.

Gabriel stood bolt upright.  He was in the middle of scrambling eggs in a cast iron pan on a hot plate atop Castiel's desk.  Very professional.

"Gabriel, quick - a customer!"  The words crackled out of Castiel like hail down a tin roof.

In a flash Castiel was upright, and had the murphy bed tucked back into the wall.  Gabriel shoved the hot plate under the desk and pulled a rack of drying clothes into the back room.  The office was so bare that it only took a second to tidy it up.  Castiel’s eyes swept the room in one last inspection.  

“Apron!”

Gabriel’s eyes said “oh right” as he shucked off the frilly white apron he was wearing while he scrambled their eggs, then strolled across the room to answer the door.

A middle-aged woman in a smart suit and a respectable fir strode through the door, glancing first at Gabriel before deciding that Castiel was the man in charge.  

“Mr. Flywheel?  My name is Ellen Singer.  You come highly recommended, and I’d like to enlist your services.”  She offered her hand to Castiel, gracefully.

Castiel squinted and cocked his head.  His client list would have to fight dirty to win a fight with Gabriel’s vocabulary.

“Who recommended me highly?”  He neglected Mrs. Singer’s hand.  

Gabriel flashed him a quick sad-clown face, then reached out to shake it himself, smiling wide.  Mrs. Singer pulled out of the shake rather quickly.  Gabriel’s face fell again.

“An old friend of the family whom you served with in Europe.  Ash sends his regards.”

“Ah.”  Castiel nodded.  It made sense that Ash would throw some work his way.  Ash was a kind soul who didn’t really seem to be cut-out for war.  He had been their communications liaison, and luckily was adept enough at interpersonal communications to befriend Castiel, which was no small feat.

Mrs. Singer looked around the barren office and her face softened.

“I’d like to hire you temporarily as bodyguard for my nephew.  Have you heard of Sam Winchester?”

“No.”  

Gabriel shook his head, yes.

“Do you listen to the radio much?”

“Yes.”

Gabriel shook his head, no.

At this point Ellen pursed her lips, then decidedly poured all her energy into communicating only with Castiel.

“Well my nephew, Sam Winchester is an up and coming singer.  Perhaps you’ve heard his newest song, Your Face?  Regardless, he just inherited the controlling shares of Winchester's Department Store.  He has decided to sell his shares and use the profits to build a music conservatory for children.  It’s big news because of his celebrity status.”

Castiel watched and listened intently and gave a slight nod.  Gabriel sat himself down at the desk, opened the bottom drawer, removed a mug and saucer and poured himself a cup of coffee.  Ellen continued.

“I have been told it’s just my imagination, but there have been some strange accidents around the store lately, and they all seem to occur around Sam.  It might be nothing, but I’d like you to stick close to Sam until the sale is final and keep an eye out for any funny business.  Are you available for this position?”

Gabriel pulled last year’s calendar out of the top drawer and pretended to study it carefully.  Castiel eyed him warily.  Mrs. Singer clearly didn’t have any delusions about the popularity of the detective she was hiring.

“I am available to start immediately.”

Gabriel tossed the obsolete calendar behind his head.  He tapped his foot.  His expression changed, starting at puzzled and ending in pain.  He looked down.  He had his foot in the egg pan.  At that moment Castiel sniffed, and his eyes immediately darted over to the floor under his desk.

“Well that’s wonderful.  I can have my driver take us to the store to meet Sam right now, if you’d like.”

Castiel scowled as he watched his breakfast melt onto the sole of Gabriel’s boot.  He nodded and gestured towards the door, allowing Mrs. Singer to pass through in front of him and lead the way to her sleek, black DeSoto.

Gabriel waved, merrily until the door clicked shut, at which time he flew off the desk chair with a silent howl, flinging his burning boot at the wall.

~ * ~

Winchester’s was the city’s premier department store, boasting seven different levels of shopping extravagance.  From bassinets to fishing nets, you could find it all at Winchester's.

And that’s where Sam Winchester sat now, staring out of his 8th floor office window.  His Aunt Ellen had phoned him that morning and asked him to meet her at the store.  The request made him a little uneasy, even if it did provide him with a fantastic excuse to run into Jess from the music counter, and maybe even take her out to lunch.

“Winchester’s sells everything, right?  So where’s the pie?  Do we sell pie?”

Dean Winchester, Sam’s older brother, sat hunched on the stiff couch staring at his hands hungrily.  His sandy hair had just recently grown out of its army regulation cut, and it was coiffed into a slick Clark Gable.  

“Why don’t you call down and order some pie to be sent up to us executives?” Sam taunted.

“Because I am not an executive.  I am a mechanic in a monkey suit.  Why doesn’t partial store owner Sam call down and get them to send up some pie for his un-famous brother slash bodyguard?”

Sam narrowed every feature of his face into a series of lines.  

“Hey you inherited just as much as I did.  I still don’t understand why you signed your half away to me.”  Sam stood up, moodily and put his hands in his pockets.

“Because I’m fine, Sammy, and you’re going places.  It just makes sense.  Unlike your haircut.”

Sam ran his fingers through his admittedly long brown locks.

“I just can’t bring myself to get it cut.”

“Okay, whatever Samson.”

“Would that make you Delilah?”

“You know what?  Maybe I’ll ask that little blonde downstairs at the music counter if she thinks you need a haircut.  There’s your Delilah.”

Sam blushed and looked away.  

Ellen Singer knocked on the door, then entered without waiting for reply.  Sam and Dean watched intently as she was followed almost too closely by a nice-looking man with sparkling blue eyes, unruly hair and a tan trench coat.  

“Sam, Dean, this is Castiel Flywheel.  Castiel, this is Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Castiel stepped forward to shake hands with Sam and Dean, politely.

“I wasn’t aware there were two Winchesters.”  His gravely tambre gave Sam and Dean a start.

“Ah.  Of course.  I forgot to mention Dean.  Dean fixes automobiles for a living.  He signed his half of the inheritance over to Sam, and he isn’t a well-known face around town.”  Ellen gave Dean a pointed glare.

Dean and Sam huffed and shifted as Ellen highlighted the stark differences between the two brothers.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see you this afternoon, Dean.  It’s a pleasant surprise.”

She smiled genuinely, and Dean returned the grin.  No matter what they slung at him, he was fond of his family.

Castiel cleared his throat, knocking the party back on course.

“Sam, I have retained Mr. Flywheel here to accompany you about your business the next couple of weeks, at least until the sale goes through and the press settles down a little.”

Sam’s eyebrows flew sky high while Dean’s face went from passive to possessive.

“Hey wait a minute, I’m Sam’s bodyguard.  I put a suit on and everything.”

Castiel examined Dean in his suit.  It was well-fitting, and disguised all traces of his work as a mechanic.  So well so that Castiel imagined if Dean stood still enough in the lobby he could be mistaken for a manequin.  

Ellen hardened her manor and took a step forward, abandoning a bit of her upper-class airs.

“And who’s going to watch you, Dean?  If someone’s really after Sam you think they’re going to be too stupid to realize he’s got a brother hanging around ready to inherit it all back?  Please."

Dean flexed his jaw, but had no response.  Sam sighed and placed his large hands on his aunt’s shoulders.

“No one is after any of us, Aunt Ellen.  But if you want Castiel to stick around until the end of the sale then that’s fine too.  Whatever makes you feel better.”

Suddenly, outside the office there was a crash.  A woman screamed.  A shrill whistle sounded out like a bird of prey, and Castiel immediately rolled his eyes.  He stepped over to the door and pulled it open wide, just in time for Gabriel to roll into the room and hop to his feet in a fighting stance.

“Gentlemen, meet my associate, Gabriel.  He doesn’t say much”  Castiel drawled, appreciating the fact that Mrs. Singer had paid his retainer in the car on the ride over.

Gabriel dropped his dukes and jutted his hand out to shake with Sam and Dean, happily.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look as they took turn shaking hands with the enthusiastic whistler, but neither of them were able to resist smiling back when he met their gaze with his unabashed grin.

“Well this has been great,” Sam cut in, “but if we’re all done I think I’m going to go down to the music department and check on my sales.”  He looked at the floor, one hand concealed guiltily in his pocket as he picked his way out of the office.

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed off after Sam.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and followed Dean.

Gabriel took Ellen’s hand and kissed it gingerly, before bowing gracefully and backing out of the room.

 


	2. Out to Lunch

In spite of his size Sam was deceptively stealthy and managed to slide into a closing elevator, momentarily shaking his three new tails.  Dean punched the down button ruefully, and they all stood quietly to wait for the next car.  Well, Gabriel did pull out a harmonica, but a small head shake from Castiel got him to put it away.

Interrupting their rapture suddenly, a  raspy, accented voice barked out from the executive offices.  The trio looked over to see a short, dark-haired but balding man in a black suit strutting towards them, sucking on a thin cigarette.  

“Dean Winchester. You don’t work here.  What’s the idea, bringing strays up to the executive floor?  Who are these people?”  

Castiel didn’t appreciate the newcomer’s tone, and angled himself in front of Dean, protectively.  Apparently he’d taken Ellen’s concern about both Winchesters to heart.

“I’m Castiel Flywheel, a purveyor of fine firs.  This is my associate, Gabriel Evergreen.  We were just telling Dean about our holiday collection.”  

Gabriel pulled a small pine branch out of his pocket and extended it towards the cranky man.  It went unnoticed.

“I’m Crowley, the store manager and this mechanic in sheeps clothing has signed away his rights and is no longer a suitable chaperone for wandering vendors.  If I see you on this floor again I’ll have security drag you out by your neck hair.”

Gabriel looked absolutely disgusted by Crowley’s imagery.  Dean’s face was dark and scowling.  But the elevator chose that moment to open, so Castiel gently pulled his comrades inside, giving Crowley a wave and an eyebrow waggle.

“Just remember, only 173 days until Christmas!”  Castiel sang through the doors as they slid shut.  The car fell silent.  Gabriel put his tree back in his pocket.

“That guy is a giant dick.”  Dean sputtered.

“Please, Dean. You’re making us feel inadequate.  Gabriel and I are just averaged sized dicks.”  Castiel put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, dramatically.  Dean glared at Castiel for a moment, then turned to see Gabriel peering at him through an ornate magnifying glass.  He began to nudge Dean in the ribs.

“Yes, I get it.  Detectives. Dicks.”  Dean huffed.  

Gabriel cocked his head as if the joke just dawned on him, then fell to the floor in a fit of silent laughter.

Music and housewares were on the fourth floor.  Sam was sitting at the record counter staring at the very pretty shop girl as she sorted through records, trying desperately not to look up at him.  It didn’t matter.  Her neck was red under his gaze and they were both guiltily enjoying the time in each other’s presence, no matter how awkward.

Dean slid up next to Sam and proceeded to ruin it all.

“Hey there, girlie.  All I’ve heard lately is Sam Winchester this and Sam Winchester that.  Frankly, I’m a little tired of it.  He sounds like a hack to me. I was wondering if you could recommend some real music?”  He leaned over the counter and gave her a wicked grin and a wink.  Masterfull.  For a moment he was torn between keeping his eyes trained on Jess, or glancing over to see how steamed he was making his brother.

“I’m sorry, miss.  Are these two goons bothering you?”  Apparently Castiel was joining in on the fun.  Dean and Sam whipped their bitch faces at him like fastballs.  Jess turned, just as startled, to find a handsomely disheveled man standing directly across from her.  

“Oh hello.  Who might you be?”  She smiled politely and Castiel returned her grin.

“I’m Castiel Flywheel, professional bodyguard.”  

“If you’re a bodyguard, I’m a monkey’s uncle.” Dean muttered, feeling empty as the attention was so easily drawn away from him.

“It’d be better if you kept your family out of this.” Castiel deadpanned, locking twinkling eyes with Dean before flitting them back to Jess.  Sam snorted, and Dean chuckled in spite of himself.

A split second later a  thunderous clap brought them all suddenly to attention.  Dean’s hands darted to his gun, tucked in the back of his waistband.  Castiel’s hand darted inside his coat.  The two men noted each other’s reactions with interest, while still on high alert.

But it was just Gabriel, sprawled out on the floor a few feet behind them, on top of a plywood sandwich board.  He hopped up and dusted himself off, sashaying over to Castiel’s side to give Jess the widest smile yet.  He tugged on Castiel’s arm.

“And this is my associate, Gabriel.”  Castiel introduced him obediently.

“Nice to meet you, Gabriel,” Jess replied.

Gabriel smiled and put his elbows on the counter, resting his chin on his hands and batting his eyes like a cherub.

“He doesn’t say much.”  

Gabriel took this moment to wolf whistle at Jess, as if that would somehow prove Castiel wrong.

“He recently lost a fight with an alley cat.”  Castiel offered this information as if it were the weather.

“Oh the poor baby.  Did he get your tongue?”   Jess cooed playfully.

Gabriel nodded, pouting.  He let out a low whistle to indicate his sadness.

“Sounds more like he shoved a canary down your throat.”  Dean was done moping and wanted back in the game.  Castiel felt something in his chest surge competitively.  He turned what he hoped was his least mischievous smile back to Jess.

“Gabriel and I are currently on-duty protecting the great Sam Winchester, and I have it on good authority that he’d like to take you out to lunch this afternoon.”  At this point Castiel’s good authority was just a hunch, but he ran with it, regardless.  “I promise we won’t get in your way.  You’ll be completely safe and unhindered."

“Is that so?”  Jess asked, coyly.  She glanced over at Sam with a dreamy smile, and Sam smiled back, blushing some more. If Sam kept this up much longer his heart was going to seize up from the effort of keeping so much of his blood surging to the surface of his upper body.  He bravely got to his feet and walked over to offer Jess his arm.  She glanced behind to make sure her replacement had come in, then stepped over and linked her petite hand behind his elbow.  They walked towards the exit.  Castiel and Gabriel followed them at a distance.  

Castiel walked slowly, distracted by the great effort he was putting into convincing himself that he had won whatever contest of wits had just been laid out for them.  He had gotten the most positive reaction from the girl (aside from Sam, but you can’t count him - he already knew Jess) and he had successfully ditched the superfluous bodyguard.  But something about this victory felt hollow.  Gabriel eyed him thoughtfully as they trudged behind Sam and Jess.  

Dean was left alone at the counter, wondering how everyone had just managed to leave him behind without so much as a goodbye.  Part of him wanted to insist that he accompany Sam to lunch, but the likelihood of something bad happening at a randomly chosen restaurant was pretty slim.  Add to that the fact that his new bodyguard may not be completely useless, and there was just no reason for him to tag along.  He let out long sigh.

Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder.  He turned to find Gabriel standing beside him, holding a card that simply read “invitation.”  He plucked it out of Gabriel’s hand, delicately.

“To lunch?”

Gabriel nodded.

“Castiel won’t mind?”

Gabriel fought to suppress a smirk as he shook his head, no.  Dean looked around the store, looking for an excuse to lean one way or the other.  Nothing came to him before his eyes fell back on Gabriel’s earnest expression.

“Aw, what the hell.”

~*~

Once the three of them were installed successfully at a table within full view of Sam, Jess and all the exits, their lunch proceeded rather normally.  They had cheeseburgers and Cokes all around, with Dean and Castiel chatting idly as they waited for the food to be served.  After they were finished wolfing down their burgers, they realized that Sam and Jess were only just starting to eat.  Castiel ordered Gabriel a milkshake to buy them some more time at the table.

“So do you guys live together?”  Dean asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Castiel looked at him, then cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.  Finally he smiled ever so slightly.

“Gabriel and I are cousins.  And no, we don’t live together.  He cares for his mother in the evenings, and I live in my office.”

Dean nodded, crunching on a pickle, thoughtfully.

“What about you?  Is there a Mrs. Dean Winchester at home?”

Dean shook his head.

“I’ve got a little apartment above my garage.  Not a lot of room for a family.  Sam stayed with me for a while, but there wasn’t really enough space for both of us, so he got his own place once his music checks started becoming regular.”  There was a twinge of regret in Dean’s voice, but he didn’t think either of them would notice.  He glanced over at Sam and Jess who were nibbling their way through a slice of apple pie one infuriating little bite at a time.  Castiel’s eyes followed his.

“How would you like to handle the night shift?  I assume that you were planning on keeping an eye on Sam outside of normal work hours.”

Dean’s head snapped back around to their table.

“Isn’t that what you’re getting paid for?”  Dean grumbled.

“Well I’d be honored if you felt comfortable enough to leave it in our capable hands.”  Castiel countered.

Gabriel slurped the end of his milkshake, noisily.

~ * ~

Midnight found the motley crew of investigators piled into Dean’s parked Chevrolet in front of Sam’s new cottage.  Gabriel snored quietly in the back seat, curled up like a child, his head on a pillow, his hands clutching a soft blanket under his chin.  Dean and Castiel sat stiffly in the front, shelling peanuts to pass the time, occasionally taking swigs out of a flask that at one point they had begun sharing.  Castiel was squinting, as usual.  

“Spit it out, Cas.”

Castiel looked over at Dean, questioningly.

“A nickname?”  His voice was especially low in an effort not to wake Gabriel.  Dean ignored his question.

“I know you’ve got questions about Sam.  About this-” Dean waved his hand towards Sam’s cottage. “Let me have ‘em.”

“Well, no one has given me a specific description of exactly who might be trying to hurt Sam, and why.  I feel unprepared for the assignment of his protection, and confused as to how thorough I should be.”

Dean sighed.  Castiel was a stranger, but he wouldn’t be very useful to them if left completely in the dark.  

“Well, look.  Here’s how it is.  Sam and I grew up with a drunk for a dad and no mom to speak of.  We ended up doing a lot of odd jobs for the North Side Gang, and that’s who discovered Sammy could sing.  One of the head honchos took pity on us, or something, and got Sammy a bunch of music lessons and training.  My dad complained but they gave him free booze and he shut up.  I didn’t really know what to think.  He was off the street hanging out with cultured folks.  I figured it could be worse.”

Castiel nodded, his mind flitting back to the headlines he had just read about the war between the North Siders and Al Capone's gang.

“So now we’re grown.  Dad’s dead.  We’ve got real jobs and Sam’s a legitimate act.  There’s a lot of publicity about the music and the store.  It’s all coming together.”  Dean’s voice trailed off as he gazed at the dark exterior of Sam’s quaint little house.

“You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Dean chuckled.  “You could say that again.”

“I could, but it would be redundant.” 

Dean shook his head and exhaled with a smile.  He reached over and patted Castiel’s shoulder.  He let his hand linger a moment, feeling the solid muscle hiding under the baggy suit and trench coat.

“You know what, Cas?  You’re alright.  I mean, we’re going to have to come up with a better way to keep an eye on Sam, because I’m not spending another night in my car with you and Gabriel.  But you’re okay in my book.”

Castiel gave him a little smile.  Gabriel snorted at the sound of his name, and scratched his nose.

 

 

 


	3. Becky's got a Gun

The three men had effectively abandoned their vigil around 5 AM, when a spastic kick on the back of his seat awoke Dean and he found that they had all passed out and left the guarding of Sam to the angels.  He felt a surge of guilt as his eyes darted around the neighborhood.  Everything seemed to be in order.  It was just before sunrise, but looked more like twilight, the street lamps glowing orange through the otherwise bluish haze.  Dean’s sleep-addled mind wandered around trying to remember what exactly the color of the horizon was reminding him of.  His eyes settled on Castiel’s eyelids, and they opened with a start as if they could feel his gaze.  Dean almost jumped, realizing that he had two drops of sunrise staring him down from only a couple feet away.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Sleeping on the job?”  He tried to look stern.   

“Gabriel relieved me.” He answered, defensively.

A little whistle from behind them made gave them both a start.  Gabriel was sitting up straight, his eyes bright, with no pillow or blanket to be seen, which baffled Dean who had checked only moments earlier to find his eyes twitching under their lids.  Gabriel’s eyes were now trained on something, and he reached forward and grabbed their shoulders.  They followed his gaze to see a long black Mercedes creeping down the road in front of Sam’s house.  They all three instinctively ducked as the car crawled past them, headlights suspiciously unlit.

Dean whipped around in his seat to watch as the car trundled away, trying to get a glimpse of the the two hatted figures in the front seat.  It was a fruitless endeavor, and he sat back with a huff.

“Well that was odd.”  Castiel offered, in a gravely morning tone.

~ * ~

Sam awoke with a start as he heard his front door open quietly, then click shut.  

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy.  It’s me.”

Sam sighed with relief, then stiffened again.

“What’s wrong?  What time is it?  Are you alone?”

Dean inched into Sam’s bedroom and smiled at the fact that his sasquatch of a brother was destined for a lifetime of ill-fitting pajamas.  

“Yeah we kind of staked you out last night.  I just sent Cas and Gabe home to get cleaned up.  They’re gonna meet us at the store at 9:00 AM.  You have meetings all day, right?”

Sam rubbed his face in confusion.

“Don’t they live on the other side of town?”

Dean jaw twitched and his eyes darted to the window.

“I sent them home with the Chevy.”

Sam’s jaw hit the floor.

“You let Castiel drive your car?”

“Yeah, why?  Is something wrong with yours?”

“Um no. Something’s wrong with my brother.  You’re letting a guy you just met drive around in your most prized possession without you.  You do realize that you’ve actually told me not to look at your car before, right?  And now there’s some stranger in there molesting her and you’re okay with that?”

“The man was in a war, for God’s sake!  He knows how to drive.”  Dean responded, choppily.  “And you’re my wealthy, successful little brother!  I don’t have much to lord over you.  If I have to use my car, so be it.”  

Sam chuckled and shook his head.  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his long locks tickling his eyes.  He stood and stretched and embarked on his morning routine, brushing his teeth and slicking his hair back carefully with a fancy pomade.  He could hear Dean pacing around the house aimlessly, examining the trinkets and photos that Sam had collected now that he was on his own.  Sam heard him sigh.

Finally he emerged, freshly suited and ready for a day of grueling shareholder meetings that he had absolutely no interest in, but was unfortunately competent enough to attend.  After that he was going to be introduced to the men who were going to potentially buy his shares in the store.  His chest knotted a little bit as he thought of the great things he was going to do once he was out of the department store business forever.

Dean was examining a postcard from Kansas when he noticed Sam standing in the doorway, ready to leave.  He set the card down and gave him a grin.

“Ready to shake a leg, Samson?”

Sam rolled his eyes.  Dean held him back when they reached the door together.

“Bodyguard first,” Dean insisted, and led the way, scanning the street for the black Mercedes or anything else that might seem out of place.  Sam locked the door and they walked over to his car.

“And Sam?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“When I get my baby back later today, if you so much as look at her funny, I will fight you.”

~ * ~

Cas and Gabe miraculously arrived at Winchester’s before Sam and Dean.  The store hadn’t opened yet, so they loitered outside, watching businessmen clutch their briefcases and rush to their prospective offices.  Gabriel made sure to eye each one as if they were a potential threat, though they all looked nearly identical in their grey or tan overcoats and fedoras.  Consequently, Gabriel was doing quite a lot of suspicious squinting.

“It’s a pity the criminals don’t dress in a manner different from the general populace that would make them easier to identify.”  Castiel stated.

Gabriel turned and gave him an earnest nod.  Castiel just chuckled and chewed on a toothpick, absently.

“Hey, you two!  What’s the big idea?”  The gruff voice of Crowley pierced through the hum of the crowd.  He cut through the sidewalk traffic, and stomped up to the detectives.

“Hello, again Mr. Crowley.  What a pleasant surprise.  Just so you know, we’re first in line for the big humidor sale.  You’ll have to get behind us.”  Castiel spoke evenly and gave Crowley a small smirk.  

Crowley fumed, pulling his hat off to reveal that his head was literally hot with rage.

“Now you listen to me!  I don’t know what you’re on about, but I’ll not have you loitering in front of my store like beggars.”

Gabriel dropped a dollar into Crowley’s upside-down-hat, then pointed at Crowley accusingly.  Crowley tipped his hat over and dumped the dollar out in disgust.  He lunged towards Gabriel, but Gabriel had already zipped behind Castiel, who stood his ground calmly.  This flustered Crowley, who hadn’t been exactly sure what he was going to do once he got his hands on the nimble mute.

“Have we met?”  Castiel reached out his hand and plastered a fake smile on his face. “I’m Castiel Bourbon, a seller of fine liquor.  Or you could lick him with no ballyhoo from us.  I’m utterly indifferent.”  Castiel shook Crowley’s hand as Crowley shook with rage.

Gabriel pulled a pansy from his pocket and danced by Crowley, stringing the flower behind his ear.

Sam and Dean pulled to the curb with a rumble and immediately noticed Crowley looking a bit like he was going to explode.  There was inexplicably a flower behind his ear and a dollar at his feet.

“Is everything alright here, Mr. Crowley?” Sam asked cautiously, knowing his brother hated the man and would not initiate contact unless forced.

Crowley flicked the flower out of his hair and turned to Sam sharply.

“Fine, Mr. Winchester.  I was just getting ready to call security.”  His demeanor morphed into the sickly smooth calm of a manipulative bastard.

“Call security on who?”  Asked Sam, genuinely.

“On these charming fellows right here.”  Crowley nodded his head towards Castiel and Gabriel.

“But sir, these are my bodyguards.  That’s Detective Flywheel and his assistant Gabriel.

Dean grimaced.  He hadn’t wanted anyone to let on to Crowley that they were watching Sam.  He just didn’t feel like he could trust the guy.  Castiel had seemed to understand this implicitly, but now Sammy had gone and blown their cover.

“Bodyguards?  I see.”  

No one liked the croak in Crowley’s voice, or the way his eyes darted and weaved along the ground in a calculating manner.  

“Well then.  Perhaps it was all misunderstanding.”  He turned back to face Cas and Gabe.  “I apologize for the miscommunication.  You are welcomed to the store when Sam is on the premises.”  Crowley turned on his heel and entered the building without giving anyone time for a response.

“Well that felt weird.”  Dean and Cas exchanged an ominous glance that they were planning  to share with Sam until he was distracted by Jess approaching the store to punch-in for her morning shift.

~ * ~

When Sam made it to the executive offices he was immediately woman-handled into the boardroom by his temporary, but efficient secretary, Becky.  Castiel and Dean followed, reluctantly until Becky whipped around and addressed them in a shrill voice.

“I’m sorry, where do you think you’re going?”  She was slight, and her long hair was knotted fashionably at the top of her head.  

“I’m Castiel Flywheel, Sam’s bodyguard.”  Castiel stood awkwardly for a moment, waiting to see if Becky would offer her hand for shaking.  He cocked his head as he watched a flood of joy and relief flood her face and change her expression from completely collected to certifiably crazy in the course of one short second.

“Oh that’s wonderful!  I like to keep an eye on him, but I can’t be everywhere.  And ever since he got the plans for the conservatory he’s been meeting with all manner of people and it’s difficult to vet every single one of them, though I’ve cleared most everyone he’s met with one-on-one.  But with his performance at Chez Paree coming up I’ve been even busier because all those night-club people end up looking so seedy and every man could have a gun stashed pretty much anywhere, whereas I have to keep mine in my purse but then again the night club people just seem to like music and -.”

Castiel reached out and grasped Becky’s shoulders as gently as possible in an attempt to somehow slow the rate at which she was delivering information.  Dean stepped in closer, entranced by the seemingly innocuous secretary and her vast knowledge of Sam.

“You’ve been watching Sam?” Dean asked.

“Uh. Well. I mean.  I’ve been keeping an eye on him.  Someone has to.  He’s going to be super famous, you know!”  Becky looked from Dean to Cas, her eyes questioning whether they understood how imperative her mission was.

“And you have a gun in your purse?”  Castiel narrowed his eyes at her, not letting that little detail slip by.

Gabriel popped up beside them with her purse, twirling a little two-shot pistol around his finger.  He whistled a greeting.

“My gun!”  Becky screeched.  Castiel pulled her forward while Dean tried to cover her scream.  The three of them were now nestled together in a startled knot.

“Shhhhh!” Dean chided.

Gabriel put the gun in the purse and placed it on Becky’s desk with a guilty look.  He backed up into a plush armchair and curled his knees up under his chin.  Meanwhile the Becky sandwich had yet to move.

“Okay.” Dean cleared his throat. “On the count of three we’re all going to let go.  Becky is not going to scream, and Gabriel isn’t going to touch anything else that doesn’t belong to him.”

Gabriel put his hat over his face in shame.  Dean counted to three and released Becky’s mouth, wiping his noticeably moist hand on his pants.  Castiel extended Becky an arm's length away then finally lifted his hands gingerly from her shoulders.  Gabriel slid out of his chair, slunk up to her and returned her purse, which she gripped tightly.

Dean chewed his lip.  Castiel gave Becky an appraising look.  Gabriel gave her a daffodil, which seemed to win her over.

“Okay, Becky.  We’re going to leave you in charge of guarding Sam when he’s in these offices.”

Becky’s eyes glowed and she looked like she might suddenly float away.  Castiel grimaced momentarily, but seemed to resign himself to the idea.  He stepped forward to speak in a lower tone.

“You also have to keep an eye on Crowley.  I don’t trust him.”

“Sheesh.  You don’t have to tell me twice.  That guy’s a slimeball, and the worst looking characters are always coming to see him.”  

Cas checked Dean with a glance that seemed to ask if leaving Sam alone with only a Becky to fend for him against Crowley was a wise plan.  Dean mouth-twitched back a solemn grin which reminded Cas that there were a lot of other people in the offices, and it was an unlikely place for a showdown.  Cas nodded.  Gabriel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, looking very dramatically neglected.

“Wow.  You guys make a great pair- uh- team.”  Becky couldn’t translate the eye conversation that had just flown by her, but that didn’t mean it didn’t completely turn her on.  Gabriel huffed.  “Threesome,” Becky spouted apologetically. “A great threesome.”  She laughed, nervously.

Dean shook his head and brushed his hands on his suit.  Cas watched him out of the corner of his eye.

“Alright, boys.  Let’s go.  If you need us, we’ll be in the bed department.”

He ushered Castiel and Gabriel out of the executive lobby and back over to the elevators.  

“The bed department?” Castiel asked, quizzically.  

Dean and Gabriel turned and gave him identical looks of disdain.

“What, you’re not tired?”   

 


	4. He was this hideous before I decked him

Winchester’s was an opulent store. In the beginning Sam had questioned how they made any money at all with their elaborate product displays and seemingly endless supply of salespeople. Now he was stuck hearing about the store’s fiscal success for the better part of the day, only interrupted ever so often by his odd assistant, Becky, cracking the door open to peer at him appraisingly. After the third peek he rolled his eyes, convinced that her watchful eye had something to do with Dean. Sam had been working with Becky for a little while now, and he knew she didn’t need any encouragement.

Dean, Cas and Gabriel immediately took the elevators to the first floor and made their way straight to the bed department. It was a wide area of the store that featured beds of all shapes and sizes, from grand mahogany king beds to the poorly-disguised murphy bed in Castiel’s office.

Lucky for them there was only one salesman scheduled to cover the whole department. Unfortunately he was a bit bored, and greeted them as soon as they stepped into his territory.

“Mr. Winchester. Good morning.” He looked down his nose at Dean and his two companions.

“Zachariah.” Dean groaned, internally. Zachariah was a tall, balding blowhard in a heavy grey suit. He stood at attention behind a high cash register which was situated so that he could have a full view of the entire bed department. Dean sucked on his cheek for a moment.

“Zachariah, I’m surprised to see you here.” Cas pushed past Dean with a jaunty air.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Zachariah looked down his nose at Castiel, his weasely little eyes only slightly betraying his utter confusion.

“You haven’t had the pleasure, but I know you.” Cas’s voice was so low it was almost ominous. “You’re Zachariah. The boss has been screaming about you all day. Why, he called you six or seven times while I was in his office!”

Dean watched with fascination as Cas let himself become more animated, fueling his ruse with enthusiasm.

“That’s impossible,” Zachariah droned. “My phone hasn’t rung once this morning.”

“No sir, you are impossible. I watched him dial, 5-6-4-3-7.”

“That’s ridiculous. The number down here is 4-2-7-9-3. He wasn’t even close.” Zachariah was a king of condescension.

“So it’s 4-2-7-9-3 you say?” Cas repeated. He turned and looked at Dean. Zachariah sighed with annoyance and leaned over to read the card taped to his telephone unit.

“Yes. 4-2-7-9-3. It’s written right there.”

Gabriel kicked Dean. Dean shot him a look of annoyance, and Gabriel caught his eye and quickly pointed out an in-house telephone mounted on the wall across the the store. Dean gave a sigh and turned back to Cas and Zachariah.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the little boys room.”

Dean was rewarded with an amused smirk from Cas. Zachariah had begun picking lint from his jacket as if they had all left, and didn’t look up. Gabriel had taken up dusting the countertop with the small broom he kept in his pocket.

There was a lull as Castiel looked over the bed department, deciding which model he’d be testing. He settled on a large, dark wood model with a fluffy white comforter. Zachariah finished picking at his clothing and eyed Castiel suspiciously.

“Why are you still here?”

“Well it’s true, I’ve had my share of close-calls. At this point that’s a question only God can answer, though I doubt he ever will. That would undermine the importance of faith, and a religion that has no need for faith is just science, really.”

Zachariah sneered at Castiel and began to look pointedly peeved. He was interrupted by a middle-aged couple wandering into the bed department. But before he could move from behind his counter to greet them, Castiel had already stepped forward.

“Good morning, sir and madame. May I help you?” He clasped his hands behind his trenchcoat and gave the couple a winning smile. The man was 10 or so years older than the woman, hiding his bald head under a bowler while she clutched his arm possessively and gazed out from behind her netted hat.

“Hey what’s the big idea? You can’t help them!”

Castiel didn’t look away from the couple.

“You’ll have to excuse this man. We caught him impersonating a store employee earlier and we’re making him work as punishment.”

The customers looked confused, and they made little utterances of surprise, like tittering birds. Zachariah huffed over and addressed the couple, who flinched slightly as he approached. Gabriel trudged in step behind Zachariah, mimicking his every move and mouthing his words.

“I’m so terribly sorry. It is actually this man here who is impersonating an employee. I’d be happy to show you the department if you just follow -”

The phone behind his desk rang noisily.

“You’re busy. I’ll get it. It’s probably the brass.” Castiel sang out in his raspy baritone. He ran over and grabbed the phone behind the counter, turning his body and talking into the wall for privacy.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean chuckled over the phone line. Hey, Cas. You miss me?

Gabriel was still mimicking Zachariah with surprising accuracy. Zachariah was gesturing around the bed section, but when he noticed his customers shooting furtive glances behind him, he whipped around to see what was going on behind him. Gabriel immediately dropped the act and threw his hands in his pocket, leaned on the counter and began to whistle innocently. He resumed the mimicry when Zachariah turned back around.

“Can you keep it down over there? I’m having trouble hearing Mr. Crowley.” Castiel turned back to the phone and began talking loudly. “What’s that, sir? You’d like to see Zachariah upstairs? Yes, sir I told him that...well you know how he is... Well sir I don’t think you have to go that far... Okay I’ll tell him, but I don’t think you’ll appreciate me using that kind of language in front of customers...”

Castiel turned his head away from the phone receiver and shouted.

“Crowley says to get your big monkey butt upstairs. His words, not mine.”

Zachariah turned red with rage. His hands began fisting the air at his sides. Gabriel had to hold his breath, puff his cheeks and cross his eyes in order to reach the deep shade of magenta that Zachariah had blossoming up his neck. This seemed to be the last straw for the skittish couple. The husband sputtered a bit, incoherently and then pulled his wife away into another part of the store. Zachariah stormed off after them, making his way to the elevators. Gabriel waved goodbye. Cas smiled and turned back to the receiver.

“Dean, why don’t you call Becky and have her keep Zachariah in the office waiting room until around, oh, half-past one?”

Can do. Later, Toots. And with that, Dean and Cas hung up.

The rest of nap time went by without incident, until Sam arrived to shake them all awake.

Castiel sat up with a start and a look of sheer annoyance. He ended up kicking Gabe and grabbing Dean’s forearm in one swift motion. The other two men snorted with the violence of their awakening.

“Gee, guys. A whole department of beds and you all pick this one.” Sam looks mildly concerned for a moment, before giving in to innocent sarcasm.

“It’s the only one not in view of the register.” Dean grumbled.

“It’s settled. I’m putting it on our registry. The cat simply adores it.” Cas reached forward and patted Gabriel’s tousled locks affectionately, and the man stretched like a feline in return.

“Whatever you say, sweetie.” Dean had swung his legs over the side of the bed and was palming one of his eyes. Eventually he’d have to take a moment to sit and ponder how he and Cas had fallen into this odd domestic banter. Eventually.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed for a minute, then sprung back to his standard young and carefree position.

“We got invited to Bobby’s for dinner. The whole gang. I was just going to go to the fourth floor and invite Jess, if she hasn’t already got plans.” The towering man began to look apprehensive. Dean was still smacking himself lightly in the face.

“I’m on it. To the fourth.” Cas reached over to pat Dean on the knee, then swung out of bed to lead Sam upstairs.

Gabriel miraculously produced a hot pot of coffee from deep within his billowy coat. He poured Dean and himself a cup, using a display model bed table to hold their saucers. Dean sipped his contemplatively.

Sam and Cas entered the elevator alone and rode in comfortable silence. It stopped on the second floor and two men in trench coats joined them. They were stocky fellows with faces that looked like chewed bubble gum stretched lumpily over pitbull snouts. Sam’s head was in the clouds as he prepared to invite Jess for a night on the town, but Cas couldn’t help notice how the men’s eyes widened with surprise as they looked up at Sam, then shared a suspicious glance between themselves. Cas crossed his arms to have his hand closer to his firearm.

One of the men reached towards the elevator buttons to choose their floor. Suddenly the car went black. Sam blinked with surprise, then grunted as something hard crashed down on his head. Cas reached forward, attempting to throttle anyone in an overcoat. He made contact, and flung one man onto the floor, surprising everyone with his aptitude for pummeling ugly faces in the dark. The elevator doors finally opened on the fourth floor, and the second attacker bolted through them while Cas used the growing seam of light to check on Sam. Sam had taken a decent blow to the forehead, and a tiny trickle of blood snaked between his eyes and down the side of his nose. Cas propped him up and patted his face until he came to.

“Sam. Sam, wake up.”

The other attacker groaned. Cas quickly flipped the man onto his stomach and sat on his back. A young woman tried to board the elevator, then screamed. Finally. Store officials were alerted. An alarm was sounded. Gabriel and Dean appeared within minutes, out of breath from a run up the stairs. They had been alerted on the house phone by Becky, who had also come down to stand outside the fourth floor elevator and wring her hands with nervous anxiety.

Dean waved his hand in front of a woozy Sam while Castiel handcuffed the captured attacker with some cuffs borrowed from a floorwalker.

“Hey there, big guy. How you feel?” Dean smiled, struggling to keep his visible anxiety to an acceptable level of brotherly care.

“Dean? What happened?”

“You were knocked silly, probably by this guy Cas is sitting on.”

Sam sat up and was greeted with a smattering of shy applause. He blushed, and gave a little wave, which made Dean guffaw.

“Geez. If this is how they react to you waking up, I don’t think we’re going to survive your actual performance.

“Shut up, jerk.” Sam winced and touched his head, gingerly.

“I’m very sorry, Sam. I’m afraid I didn’t guard your body very effectively.”

“It’s okay, Cas.” Dean interjected, reaching over and patting Cas’s arm. “You got one of them. Looks like you really did a number on him.” The lunk of a man’s face smushed into the worn elevator carpet.

“Yes and no. He was this hideous before I decked him.”

The store medic pulled Sam into an employee lounge and patched up his head. Dean, Cas and Gabriel huddled by the lounge door, speaking with one of the police officers who had been summoned to collect thug #2. For all intents and purposes, his name was Jimmy the Boot, and he’d done a lot of work for Al Capone’s gang, though he didn’t seem to be exclusive.

Cas grit his teeth as Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Now it was real. Someone really was out to hurt Sammy. Someone with possible ties to one of the cities most notorious gangs, who was generally up-in-arms regarding the end of prohibition.

The medic began packing his scissors and tape, and Sam shook out his hands.

“Hey, guys. We’ve still got dinner at Bobby’s, right? I haven’t gotten a chance to ask Jess if she can come.”

They were just bidding the cop farewell, and Dean smiled at Sam, in spite of himself. He pulled the lounge door open to reveal Jess waiting just outside with a sweet, concerned expression. Becky lingered not far behind, glaring at Jess with the venom of a thousand mediocre brunettes. Both girls drank up Sam’s relieved grin like it was about to become an illegal substance.


	5. The Roadhouse you dined in

  
Bobby Singer had inherited the majestic Singer Hotel from his great grandfather, the oil baron. It was a 25 story jewel in the thick of the city. Ellen Singer was in charge of the Roadhouse, the hotel’s main restaurant. The lobby was a shiny, angular space with lots of glittering marble and brass inlay. The restaurant was one of those fancy jobs, with a slightly raised stage in one corner for classy dinner entertainment. Across from the stage, through the sea of crisp white tables, was a long and inviting bar that left plenty of room for the customers who weren’t necessarily looking for dinner. In the center of the room the tables parted for a dance floor.

They had phoned ahead to let Bobby and Ellen know what had happened at the store, and Bobby suggested that they all stay in a suite in the hotel that night for safety's sake. Everyone agreed that spending a little time outside of their usual habits would be prudent. They took quick trips to each of their houses, packing up suitcases of dinner clothes and pajamas, then drove around the city a little more to make sure they weren’t being followed before finally pulling up to the Singer Hotel.

“Swanky.” Cas observed as he gazed up at the imposing building. Gabriel nodded, his eyes following the same path. Dean’s eyes followed theirs and lingered until he finally felt the heat of Cas’ gaze upon himself. He caught Cas squinting at him, a look that was fast becoming familiar. He replied with a self conscious, tight-lipped grin, then started off for the door.

“Don't rush in on my account. I can stand here all day." Sarcasm oozed out of the gangliest bellboy in Chicago. His suit was red and pressed to perfection, but his hat sat atop his head, jauntily out of place. He offered a wide grin to the party that was full of genuine warmth and welcome.

“Hiya, Garth.” Sam smiled strolled through the door. Cas and Gabriel followed, tipping their heads politely. Dean brought up the rear and paused to shake Garth’s hand. Garth grinned even wider and pulled Dean into a friendly hug, clapping him on the back like an old friend.

“Oomf. Take it easy, Garth. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” Dean grunted, but clapped Garth on the back just as hard.

“Bah,” Garth guffawed. “Reputation? Nobody’s ever heard of Dean Winchester.” His eyes danced mischievously. Cas heard the exchange clearly, but couldn’t extrapolate a context where the words made much sense. The detective within him catalogued the comments for further investigation. He glanced at Sam for possible insight, balking slightly when Sam knowingly met his gaze with a look that said I’ll tell you later. It was then that Cas realized he seemed to be investigating the wrong Winchester brother. He chalked it up to idle curiosity.

Ellen Singer greeted them warmly and escorted them to a table big enough for ten. Jess had been waiting for Sam in the lobby, and Ellen promised to return shortly with Bobby in tow, though he wasn't too fond of eating in the restaurant. Cas eyed the additional empty seats and wondered who else might drop in on their meal.

He didn't have long to guess before a high pitched squeal revealed their first dinner crasher.

"I'm not late, am I?" Becky flounced into the seat across from Sam and gave him a bubbly grin which fluidly morphed into a rather put-out scowl as her gaze shifted to Jess. She had placed herself in a chair between Dean and Cas, and they were both glaring at her with a bit of trepidation. Dean cleared his throat and gave Cas a pointed _she was not invited to this_ glare. Cas replied with a _there's no way to tell her that now_ shrug. Sam and Jess looked a bit confused. Gabriel tucked the tablecloth into his collar like a bib and began buttering a roll.

"We could use an interpreter for these two, am I right?" Becky wagged her thumbs at Dean and Cas, once again having honed in on their wordless chatter.

Dean coughed abruptly and dropped his head for a moment, meeting Sam's questioning scrutiny when he looked up. _What's this about wordless conversations with Castiel?_ Sam squinted at Dean. Dean sent a terse _she's here isn't she? That's where talking in front of her will get you dip_ of the head back at his brother. Becky fanned herself with her napkin, eyes plastered on Sam. If Jess noticed she did a fine job keeping her face dreamily serene.

"Well look what my mom dragged in." Another female voice pierced through their silent conversations as a curvy blonde dumped herself into the seat next to Sam. Her dress was a little on the casual side for dinner at the Roadhouse, but that was the prerogative of the bosses' daughter.

"Hello, I'm Jo Singer." She offered a casual wave to Jess, Becky, Cas and Gabriel before launching into a rather artful interrogation of her new dinner companions. Castiel took notes.

"So you must be Castiel." She started. "I've heard about you." She left that remark hanging in the air while she turned to Jess. "And you must be Jess. I'm the boys' cousin. I've heard so much about you. He practically gushes." She grinned gaily at Sam's obvious embarrassment. Becky scowled. Jo ignored Becky completely. "Hey Dean-er, long time no see. Who's this guy?" She jutted her nose towards Gabriel. Before Dean could think of the easiest reply Gabriel slid a note across the table to Joe. She eyed it, warily before picking it up and unfolding it.

"My name is Gabriel. I call him Deano sometimes." Jo read the note out loud. Dean chortled. Jo let the first hint of uncertainty slip through her confident shell as she examined Gabriel thoroughly. He batted his eyes at her, resting his chin on the backs of his interlaced fingers.

Bobby and Ellen joined them then, which effectively ended the wandering conversation. The group made polite small talk throughout the meal, then dispersed to dance after dessert. Gabriel grabbed Jo up before she could protest. Her family watched tensely, waiting for some kind of explosion, but as it turned out, Gabriel was a fine dancer and was behaving (overall) like a gentleman.

Sam pulled Jess to the dance floor, a bit sheepishly. When Dean turned to invite Cas to forgo dancing and monitor Sam from the bar, he found himself face to face with a very expectant Becky. _Real nice, Cas._ He grumbled internally, wondering if Cas could hear him gripe without the benefit of eye contact.

Dean wasn't sure exactly how he had gotten saddled with Becky while Castiel pranced around the room with a glamorous stranger. Cas' girl had long red hair that looked like lava hanging over her emerald green gown. She was willowy and graceful and was probably not stepping all over Cas' feet while craning her neck to stare at Sam and Jess as they executed a blissful foxtrot. Dean’s toes began to ache with jealousy.

One song ended, but another started up just as quickly, and Becky’s grip was like iron. Dean spotted red hair and green sparkles, and his eyes jumped up to meet Cas’s. They only had a moment before being whirled apart, and they each took advantage.

 _Dean, can I help you?_ Cas’s blue eyes twinkled a bit too merrily as he cocked his head to the side in time with the music.

 _For the love of God, Cas. Get. Me. Out. Of. This._ His green gaze shot back, angrily.

The moment ended, and Dean was twirled to a new angle where he caught glimpse of Gabriel and Jo high-stepping across the floor. The two seemed to be revelling in their outlandish dance moves, easily ignoring the sideways looks from the older patrons. Dean smiled. He liked to see people having fun. Becky promptly stomped the smile off his face with her right heel.

“Excuse me, may I cut in?” Cas stood stone-still beside them, in stark contrast to the sea of dancing couples. It was like he had materialized out of thin air. Dean coughed with surprise, and Becky made a sound like a hiccup.

“Oh. I suppose so.” She released Dean from her clutches and turned towards Cas, but he already had Dean by the elbow, leading him towards the bar. Becky’s face twitched in shock. Dean looked away purposefully, but Cas couldn’t follow-through with his abandonment. He paused, then leaned in to speak lowly into her ear. Whatever it was, it sent her eyebrows back up to standard crazy-Becky height, and sent her scurrying out of the restaurant.

“What’d you tell her?” Dean sidled up to the bar, finally, and ran a hand lovingly over the smooth marble countertop, his eyes searching the floor to check up on Sam.

“I, uh...” Cas looked conflicted. “I told her that the bellboy Garth had looked very suspicious, and that I thought I’d seen him watching Sam a little too closely. I believe the two of them might... hit it off.”

“What are you, Cas? A bodyguard, a detective or a matchmaker?” Dean feigned suspicion. His silent laughter brought Cas’s gaze back from the dance floor, where he had also been searching for and confirming Sam’s presence and safety.

“All three.” Cas swung his eyes back around to Dean. “And not a bad dancer, either.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“For now.”

Dean furrowed his brow for a moment, then scanned the bar, his eyes travelling over a few exceedingly handsome couples. He watched a bit forlornly as the women puffed on long cigarettes, leaning towards their sharply-dressed dates suggestively, occasionally fondling a lapel or pushing the men away with an overly playful laugh. He caught the bartender’s eye and ordered two Old Fashions.

“You got any introductions for me, Cas?” Dean asked, eyes focused on the drinks as he slid one to his new friend.

“No.”

“Hey now. I’m giving you plenty to work with, here.” Dean asserted, with as much humility as can be mustered while simultaneously gesturing towards oneself in a way that suggests one is the total package.

Cas took a thoughtful sip of his drink, and squinted at the dance floor, chewing the corner of his mouth. He turned back to Dean.

“Because I think it will be a cold day in Hell when Dean Winchester finally meets his match.” The twinkle in his eyes was slightly dulled by a flash of what may have been conviction. Dean’s subconscious put a mental bookmark into this statement, and promised to return later with his conscious mind in tow for further examination.

“Anyway, my matchmaking skills have always been most beneficial to people from whose company I wish to extricate myself. So you’re out of luck.”

They sat for a couple minutes in an effortless silence. Dean drained his glass and stood up.

“I’m going to dance my way over to Sammy and see if he’s almost ready to call it a night.”

Cas nodded, and Dean set off towards the side wall where the same glimmering redhead from earlier was enjoying a cigarette by herself. He gave her a winning smile and offered her his arm. She accepted, and they hit the floor with grace. Dean was a talented dancer when he wasn't saddled with a Becky. Cas watched as he led his former dance partner effortlessly across the floor while holding whispered conversation that seemed to amuse the redhead greatly. Cas wondered what they were talking about. He hadn’t exchanged more than a few necessary pleasantries with her, himself.

Dean finally had danced them to the far corner of the room where he gave Sam a brotherly pat on the shoulder without missing a step. At the end of the song both couples left the floor. Dean politely extricated himself from the redhead and snagged Gabriel and Jo to convene with everyone else at the bar. Jo reached over a grabbed a bottle of gin off the top shelf, unwavering under Dean’s questioning gaze.

“For the room. You didn’t think you were getting rid of me that easy, did you?”

“It’s never been easy to get rid of you, Jo. At least you’re contributing this time.” Dean laughed.

“Hey! Don’t get mad at me! Gabriel invited me.”

Gabriel grinned from ear to ear, his eyes widening while his eyebrows remained in their proper place. It was almost creepy. But it wasn’t quite as creepy as the awkward goodbye going on between Sam and Jess. Dean could tell that Sam hadn't invited her back to the suite, and that was fine with him. It was probably smart of Sam to hold off on subjecting her to the full frontal attack of Winchester/Singer nightlife. But that didn’t mean he was enjoying saying goodnight either. The two stood awkwardly, pawing at each other very gently and making quiet, unfunny jokes in an effort to draw the evening out as long as possible. Dean’s eyes arched over a familiar rainbow and found Cas’s at the end of it.

 _Time to go?_ He raised an eyebrow at Cas.

_Let’s blow this popsicle stand._

Dean wasn’t sure how Cas could embed proper nouns like popsicle so definitely into a look, but it made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

They retreated to the lobby where Jo again hopped behind the counter to grab their room key. That plus the bottle of high-class gin was making her a very handy, if not unorthodox concierge. Cas nudged Dean and gestured towards Becky and Garth who were having an animated discussion on one of the benches by the door. Well Becky was conversing. Garth was watching with a strange mixture of fear and grateful amusement.

A few moments later Jess breezed past them all with a shy wave. Becky stopped gesturing and a watched her go, eyes darting back to Cas and Dean. Cas dipped his head and pointed after Jess. Becky nodded, hopped up, grabbed Garth’s hand, shook it emphatically, then followed Jess out the door.

Jo called from somewhere behind them, holding an elevator.

“You don’t think...” Dean started, remembering the gun in Becky’s purse.

“No, Dean. Becky is not going to shoot Jess.” Dean raised his eyebrows at Cas’s deadpan. It wasn’t an entirely implausible question. “Trust me.”

And despite only knowing him for 48 or so hours, Dean did.


	6. Cutting a rug

Uncle Bobby Singer may have been a gruff dinner companion, but he was always generous. Their suite was located on the top floor, and consisted of a two full beds, a spacious bath, a plush couch and a breakfast table for four. Their luggage had been ferried up earlier by Garth, so they fell into the room empty handed, shucking off jackets and ties and throwing them haphazardly around the room, each claiming a corner or a space behind the couch for themselves without making it to a closet or a dresser like a civilized person. It was only one night.

Jo brought up the rear. She deposited the bottle of gin then disappeared back into the hall. Gabriel noticed her absence first, and walked right over the couch trying to get to the door and go after her. But when he reached the open door he was hit with a wall of cot. It toppled onto him with Jo behind it. She yelled upon impact, but was reduced to giggles as she rolled off of Gabriel and the temporary bed. Sam picked the cot up off of Gabriel and set it up near the couch. Gabriel dusted his hands at a job well done. Jo disappeared out the door once again.

After losing his coat and tuning in a raucous swing tune on the large radio, Dean moved on to pouring generous amounts of gin into the juice glasses already set up on the breakfast table.

“I had a feeling it was smart to keep the paying guests off this floor tonight.”

Bobby appeared in the doorway with narrowed eyes. Sam swiped his hand through his hair nervously and Castiel straightened up and attempted to look responsible, though his tie hung loosely around his neck and his shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows. Bobby’s eyes darted around the room.

“Where’s Jo?”

“Dropping off the gin was the last I saw of her.” Dean answered innocently.

“Then what’s that cot doing there?”

“I don’t see it doing anything.” Castiel blinked at Bobby, earnestly. Bobby’s gaze remained cool. He was not as familiar with Castiel as he was with his nephews, but he was a quick study.

“I think I might just have to check and see if you boys have enough towels.”

Bobby strode over to the bathroom. Jo immediately fell into the room with another cot. Sam’s eyes went wide as he lunged forward to catch it before it made a thunk. He placed it gingerly next to the other cot while Gabriel gestured wildly to indicate to Jo that her father was in the bathroom. Luckily, Jo was good at charades. She tucked and rolled back out the door of the suite and made herself scarce in the hallway. Bobby walked out of the bathroom looking a bit more sour. He was under strict orders from Ellen to rope Jo in for the night and she wasn’t making it easy. He saw the second cot and frowned.

“Why do you now have two cots?” He looked accusingly at Dean, which was silly. Dean hadn’t moved an inch, and he gestured as much.

“Well you know how those things are. They multiply like rabbits.” Castiel shrugged at him, a small smirk playing on his lips. Sam coughed out a laugh. Bobby barely stifled a grin with the knowledge that his wife would be none too happy with his next statement.

“Well do your best to keep Jo under control and out of her mom’s hair for the night. I’ve managed to keep a whole two floors empty, aside from the regulars. But you’re out as soon as I get a complaint, y’hear? Don’t be idjits.”

He directed his last order to Castiel, acting as if his being the eldest would somehow give him the ability to keep the group under control. Castiel wondered what kind of night he was in for. Bobby said a gruff goodnight and exited the room, closing the door behind him. It opened again 30 seconds later to reveal Jo triumphantly clutching a second bottle of liquor. She plunked it down next to the first.

“Now, who’s hungry?”

….........................................................

Castiel surprised everyone by volunteering to raid the Roadhouse kitchen with Jo. They were all hungry, and four hands were better than two. She led him down an employee staircase that wound them through a maze of staff tunnels and back entrances that were all very fascinating for someone not in the hospitality business. She brazenly snapped on the lights when they reached the long-closed kitchen, and gestured grandly.

“Tonight, we feast.”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Anything.” With that, she dove into a shallow cooler that was stocked with cheese platters, pre-prepared for room service. Castiel meandered over to the dessert case, snagging a full apple pie and a small tray of cream puffs.

Jo was busy piling her bounty onto a tray. She squinched her forehead when she saw Castiel’s first picks.

“Dean likes pie,” Cas explained, “and Gabriel thrives on any sort of sweet.” He paused, considering whether there was enough food on the tray. “What does Sam eat?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the detective?”

“Tonight was the first meal I’ve shared with Sam, and I was hired to protect him more than detect him. My questions and observations are purely for the sake of curiosity.”

“Hmm. Well Sam likes rabbit food, and Dean likes burgers and pie, though somehow you already seem to know all about Dean.” She gave him a pointed look, but he did not meet her gaze.

Joe turned her back to Castiel to examine a different cooler. It was packed with raw meat, so she shut it abruptly. Castiel cleared his throat.

“I actually know very little about Dean. Is there anything that you could tell me that you think would be helpful - while I’m protecting Sam?”

Jo spun around thoughtfully. She searched Castiel’s face for some indication of how much she should share about her favorite cousin. Castiel could see that she was assessing him in some way.

“Are you married?” She asked with some hesitation.

“No.”

“Have you ever been engaged?”

“No.”

"Just haven't met the right girl?"

"That's what I tell people." Cas began to look vaguely uncomfortable.

She bit her lip, and he could see her brain at work, the end result appearing to indicate that his perpetual bachelorhood had somehow earned her trust.

“Well from what I hear Dean was a lot crazier during the speak-easy days, when his dad was still alive and Sam was over in Europe for music school. Right at the end of prohibition there were a lot of raids at some of the big spots downtown, and he got picked up more than once. No one will tell me exactly what for...”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up. He knew who had been raided and why. He’d even witnessed one such event while tailing a man who was suspected of stepping out on his wife. The raid itself had usurped his commission, when the cops picked up his mark and charged the man with public indecency. The man’s wife had not felt inclined to deliver the final payment after suffering the public humiliation that comes with your husband being arrested while wearing your most stunning ball gown.

“I see.” Castiel’s answered gravely.

“Yeah, I think you might.” Jo looked at him for a few seconds more, straining to interpret every facet of his reaction. For the second time that evening he admired her keen ability to pry.

“Well, the only greens I’ve encountered seem to be garnish, and I don’t think there’s enough parsley in the whole state of Illinois to fill Sam Winchester.” Castiel worried loudly to break the tension.

Jo laughed and dug around in a different cooler. She found some carrot sticks and held them up, triumphantly.

“There. Rabbit food.”

They finished loading their tray and Jo surprised Castiel yet again by hoisting it up onto her shoulder like a pro. He attempted to help, but she waved him away with a mystifyingly free hand. She only had to transport their food across the kitchen to the dumbwaiter attached to their suite, and send it up to the top floor. The pair took the stairs two at a time, back to the suite and the feast that now awaited them. They burst through the door with hunger in their eyes. Their friends had not felt the need to wait for their arrival.

“Good call on the pie, Cas!”

Cas smiled back, though his eyes flickered momentarily as he watched Dean eat the uncut pastry directly out of the pie plate.

“You’re welcome, though I was looking forward to trying a piece.”

Dean tossed him a fork.

Gabriel was making short work of a platter of assorted cheeses, with the help of a long loaf of French bread. Jo joined him.

Sam hovered overhead, picking at the cheese and assorted meats until his eyes lit up. He had found the carrots. His crunching filled the room, and no one hesitated to roll their eyes at him.

No matter what they were eating, they were washing it down with gin, and it wasn’t long before they all felt rather loose, if a bit drowsy. An upbeat hit came on the radio, and Gabriel jumped up and tried to pull Jo off the couch to dance. She groaned and refused to budge. Gabriel shrugged and grabbed Castiel, who made noises of protest, but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. His cousin took the lead and whirled him around. Castiel played along, and followed a bit goofily.

“Sam. Sam. Sam.” Jo picked herself up and started poking Sam in his side. “We can’t let them show us up like this.”

“Save yourself the embarrassment.” Castiel called out. “I’m the best dancer in this room.” Gabriel gave him a says you glare, and looked to the others for support.

Those were the magic words. Before Sam knew what hit him he was being jerked around the room by his petite cousin. Their size difference made them seem a bit graceless, but they held their own for a minute or two. Sam was coordinated, and had good rhythm, while Jo was blessed with the absence of fear. Dean sat back and laughed at Jo’s face, screwed up with competitive concentration.

The song ended abruptly, and the DJ came on to announce the next track, a hit entitled “Your Face” by the up and coming Sam Winchester. The pace slowed down a tad, though the tempo of his song was still upbeat. Everyone but Sam (and Gabriel, technically, though he mimicked the action) yelled out when they heard his name. Sam groaned and sat himself back on the couch, covering his face with his hands. He would never be used to listening to his songs in front of the people that were close to him. It felt a bit too personal and left him wide-open for some brotherly ribbing.

Castiel abandoned Gabriel in favor of Jo, and began to waltz her around the room.

“Still the best dancer in the room.” He threw it out to take some of the heat off Sam. It seemed to work. Jo bristled and complained that she couldn't compete fairly if she had to follow his lead. She took the opportunity of a tight turn to push away. He thudded into the table next to Dean and snatched up Dean's hand before the man could protest. Jo had snatched Gabriel up again. Dean balked a moment.

"Where's your competitive spirit, Deano?" Singer yelled out, swiveling her hips to the beat. Dean narrowed his eyes, the full effect of his drinking swimming up to his brain and exploding with intent.

"You lead." He commanded. "I refuse to be beaten while dancing to my own brother's song."

Castiel took Dean's firm waist in his arm while Dean circled his shoulder. They joined hands. Cas straightened and Dean mirrored the motion, which brought them few inches closer together. They could smell a spicy mix of gin and apple pie mingling between them.

"Are you ready to judge this competition, Sam? Castiel waited for a downbeat before leading his partner out onto the"floor."

"Sure. What's the prize?"

"The coveted title of best dancer." Castiel spoke earnestly.

"And moooore gin!" Called Jo.

"Step it up, Cas. I could always use more gin."

Cas pulled Dean around the room like an expert, though Dean held his own and completed some pretty tricky steps considering the backwards nature of his side of the action. Castiel was a strong lead. By the end of the song they were the clear winner, Gabriel having tried to leap over a coffee table and failed, accidentally throwing Jo into Sam, landing them both in a heap on the couch.

"Oof," gasped Sam. "You lose. Castiel is easily the best dancer in the room and surprisingly Dean didn't do so bad either."

Dean whooped and Cas smiled knowingly. Jo began to pout. Gabriel took pity on her and offered her a cream puff from his pocket. She accepted her consolation prize with by looking only very slightly consoled.

Once the mystery of the greatest dancer was solved, the party began to wind down. Sam pulled his bag into the bathroom and emerged shirtless in his where’s-the-flood pajama bottoms. Dean pointed at him with bleary eyes in a way that said I am laughing at you, Moose. Sam rolled his eyes and collapsed on one of the plush hotel beds.

Jo had spent the last hour curled up in the corner of the couch, talking at Gabe. He had done a lot of absent nodding, and occasionally elicited a squeal of delight when he pulled colorful scarves from her ear or surprised her by honking his little bicycle horn in response to a question. She nodded off just after Sam went to sleep. Gabriel smiled and stood. He surveyed her critically and did a few squats, apparently trying to loosen up a bit. He mimed spitting into each palm, then rubbed his hands together. Then, ever so gently, he slid his arms around the sleeping girl and hoisted her off the couch. He paused for a moment, but she didn’t stir, so he gingerly walked them across the room and deposited her onto the other hotel bed.

Dean and Cas were heavily buzzed, and were handling their guilt about that in different ways. Dean would pace the room, periodically peering out the windows to “make sure nothing was up,” while Cas would take leave of the suite every half hour to “clear the hall.” Neither one of them had seen anything remotely suspicious, but that didn’t stop them from giving everything a wary eye, including the two cots that Gabriel left for them after snuggling his fluffy head into the warm spot Jo left in the corner of the couch.

“Should we do this in shifts?” Dean asked Cas, only slurring a little.

“We both need to sleep, Dean. It’ll be fine.” Cas’s paranoia was slightly dimmed by the fact that Sam was not his flesh and blood brother. But also because he was more and more considering Dean to be part of his responsibility as well, and after their night on the street, Dean needed a real sleep. He pushed Dean over to the outside cot, and climbed onto the middle one himself. Dean stared at nothing while he loosened his tie and untucked his shirt. He flicked the last light switch in the room off then settled himself onto the narrow bed.

Castiel was only 8 or so inches away from both Gabriel and Dean, the group having never re-arranged after Jo’s hurried bed deliveries. Gabriel let out a snort, and Dean reached over to hit him with a pillow, effectively smashing Cas across the shoulder. Castiel kicked Dean in the shin, and Dean growled. A moment later he laughed quietly.

“How’d I get roped into another night with you two clowns?” He asked no one in particular.

“Better than sleeping in your Chevy.” Cas pointed out, logically.

“Nothing is better than my baby,” Dean grumbled.

Cas turned his head to face Dean for a moment through the dark, and Dean could feel him huff out a chuckle, and practically heard him rolling his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning sun elicited a collective groan from the merry quintet.  Jo snorted, rolled to the floor and stalked out of the room to return home to the welcoming warmth of her own bed.  Sam crawled out of bed with all the grace of a grizzly.  He hogged the bathroom so long that there was a piping hot breakfast waiting for him when he finally emerged.  His hangover had left him ravenous, which was a great distraction from the fact that Gabriel had taken it upon himself to smother every slice of toast and/or pancake with at least two kinds of jam.  The little angel was just drawing himself a boysenberry mustache as Sam sat down at the table.  Castiel and Dean were drinking coffee in their white undershirts and slacks, each behind his own newspaper.

"So about this afternoon,” Sam started.

Cas and Dean looked up with an eye-chorus of _humminah?_ Gabriel tucked the tablecloth into his collar yet again.

“I have a rehearsal at Chez Paree at three o’clock.”

They blinked at Sam, expectantly.

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to bring you guys.”

Dean slapped his paper down and readied his protest with a quick breath.  Gabriel caught him with a jellied hand to the chest and Dean scowled at the pink smear.  Cas looked thoughtful from across the table.

“Well if Capone's crew is after you he’s not going to be brazen enough to try and pull anything at Chez Paree, and the security there is tight so Sam should be safe from any outside threats.”  Cas pulled his focus from Sam to Dean.

Dean considered and conceded with a shrug and picked up his paper again, snagging a piece of toast and tossing it at Gabriel in retaliation.  Gabriel snapped the toast out of the air like a seal.

"We'll drop you off and pick you up."

"What, you're just going to wait on the sidewalk?" Sam looked doubtful.

"I got friends in the neighborhood."

Sam's jaw flexed momentarily, but loosened as he watched Cas surreptitiously butter Gabriel's collar, which was easy as Dean was distracting him by trying to toss grapes into his mouth from across the table.

..................

The Royal Chambers was an odd remnant of a speakeasy.  It had no public facing signage to indicate it was a bar or an eatery, yet all the right people knew that it was a happening place to go for some dinner and drinks. 

Dean led Cas and Gabriel in through the narrow entry hall and over to the solid oak bar.  Cas took in the scenery for the first time.  Where the Roadhouse was opulent, the Royal Chambers was understated, the way he imagined the interior of an English men’s club.  Dean tapped Cas’s elbow to catch his attention before introducing him to a stunning young redhead, dressed in an antiquated style velvet emerald gown..

"Charlie! How's my favorite weirdo?"

"I don't know, Dean, how are you?" The woman grinned cheekily.  Dean wrinkled his nose at her.  "And who might you be?" She raised an eyebrow at Cas.

"I'm Castiel Flywheel, at your service." Cas leaned an elbow on the counter and held a serious expression."

"And how would you service me, exactly?" Charlie dried out a highball glass without breaking eye contact.  Dean waited patiently for his friends to finish metaphorically snorting and pawing the ground.  Gabriel was unusually sedate, examining a wall full of photographs.

"I can tailor all of your old, unused ladies clothing to fit a mid-sized man."

"Handy." Charlie raised her eyebrows at Dean.  Dean blushed.

"Over there you can see Gabriel, my reluctantly reticent model."

Gabriel turned from studying the photographs to reveal that he had somehow applied lip color and rouge to highlight his delicate features. He lifted a dangling shirt tail in a dramatic curtsey that revealed a border of lace on the hem of his undershirt.

Charlie burst into pleased laughter and turned back to Dean.

"Remind me to offer up thanks to whatever mysterious force brought you all together.  What'll it be? On the house. One of my famous burgers, perhaps?"

" I'm afraid we'll be doing most of the grilling-" Cas began, before he noticed Dean sending over an unimpressed scowl. "My apologies," he digressed.  "I'll try to keep my banter under control."  There was a crash across the room as Gabriel was startled by a hat stand, and threw up his dukes. "And my cousin. Excuse me." Cas turned on his heel and began extricating Gabriel from a knot of aggressive scarves.

"So Charlie. It's been too long. I wish I could say I was just stopping by to say hi, but I'm actually in the neighborhood because of Sam."

"Oh right. Chez Paree. And the elevator incident at the store. I read ya loud and clear."  She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and scribbled a note on an ordering pad under the bar. Dean just watched with tempered admiration. Charlie always seemed to know everything, and what she didn't know, she could find out before happy hour.

"Here's a name for you. This is the person that hired your thugs. The good news is, it's not the mob! Bad news is, I got nothing but a name at this point. No one knows anything about them."

Dean glanced at the paper, chasing a hint of recognition as he stared down at the unexpected moniker. A lazy glissando made him look up, and he saw Gabriel embracing a large harp and begging Cas through his demanding puppy eyes to let him play.

"Go for it!" Charlie called out. Gabriel grinned and clapped and set himself on the stool with relish. Cas stepped back to the bar to join the rest of the small audience.

Gabriel started with a medley of popular songs, settling on an uptempo version of Your Face for the majority of the mash-up. His playing was exuberant and his style was bold, treating the harp like the giant, sturdy instrument that it was instead of tickling it delicately as others were prone to do.

"When he was young we figured letting him play grandma's harp would help him burn off some of his extra energy." Cas murmured.

"He's wonderful." Charlie gushed. "Music is an excellent mental stimulant." She added, agreeably.

"Oh we had no idea he could play." Car deadpanned. "It was three miles to grandma's house, each way, on foot."

Charlie giggled again and Dean huffed out a laugh as well.  They all let themselves be serenaded until Dean gave a little wave to indicate that Sam would be getting done at Chez Paree soon and be ready for his escort home. Charlie sighed.

"It was really dreamy to meet you. And you, Dean. You've been hiding from us. We miss you.  It’s not the same here without my favorite handmaiden." Dean hung his head and rubbed the back of his head in bashful shame. "Well... just don't be strangers you guys! If you come back some night and put on a show for the dinner bunch I'll pay you in all the burgers and pie you can eat!"

Gabriel’s eyes went wide and he nodded enthusiastically.

“That sounds like a plan, Charlie.”  Dean gave her a parting smile.

……………….

They waited outside Chez Paree for ten minutes or so before Sam joined them, looking worn out and sounding a bit hoarse.

“Hey, fellas.  I’m sorry you had to wait around.  Good news, they said you can come on back next time, if you can behave yourselves.”

Castiel gave Gabriel a meaningful look.

“Well I’ve got some good news too, Sammy.  It doesn’t look like we’re being hassled by a gang.  Take a look at this name.  Does it look familiar?”  Dean handed over Charlie’s slip of paper.  Sam looked confused.

“ _Bela Talbot?_ Of course it’s familiar.  The Talbots were interested in buying the store before the Angel Brothers outbid them.”

“Oh.” Dean bit his lip and glanced at Cas. 

“Any negative publicity about the store would work to drive the value down.  An attack on Sam, thwarted as it were, would put customers ill at ease as well as bring to light your past association with a major crime family.”

“So they’re disgruntled about losing, or they’re trying to knock the price back down to their budget?”

Castiel and Gabriel shrugged.  They all looked to Sam.

“Well?  You’ve been in accounting meetings for the last couple of weeks?  What’s the plan?”

Sam grimaced.

“Uh.  You know who might have some information we could use on this?  Um, maybe … Becky…”

Dean shut his eyes and groaned.  This caught Cas completely unawares, and he licked his lips.  Gabriel smacked his forehead, then quickly stepped over to the Chevy and opened the back door, gesturing for Sam to enter.  Dean and his baby drove them all back to Winchester's.

 

 

 

 


	8. Hypothetically a Scary Dame

Back at Winchester's, the whole group naturally detoured passed the music counter before making their way to the corporate suite to find Becky. However when they arrived Jess was a bit swamped with customers, which made Sam droopy and Cas on edge. Dean looked the crowd over and rubbed his chin with determination. He would fix this.

He sauntered over to the midnight black baby grand piano featured in the middle of the floor and slid onto the bench.

"Dean." Sam hissed. "What are you doing?"

Dean cracked his knuckles like a performer, then opened the button on his suit jacket, smoothing his shirt for a moment before waggling his fingers in the air for a mock warm-up.  A couple of the sharply dressed women shopping at the music counter were beginning to eye him with interest.

"Doe, ray, me, fa." Dean coughed, and patted his chest with his fist.  "Mee, mee, meeee."  Sam hung his head, aware of the direction Dean was taking things.  The bolder women were now inching forward to lean on the piano. Cas led the herd, monopolizing the spot directly facing Dean, and acting oblivious to the angry glares from the young women whose views he was obstructing.

Dean smiled at the keys, and began to plunk away jovially at the intro of Sam's big radio hit, Your Face.  Suddenly a finger tapped him on the shoulder.  He looked up without missing a beat, repeating the phrase in favor of stopping the music.  Gabriel was behind him, motioning for Dean to move over. Dean made an exaggerated eh, why not? face and shoved over to make room for Gabe, who began to pound out the bass line in a lower octave.  They matched up easily, which belied their high skill levels to those who were more musically inclined.   With an almost imperceptible nod of Dean's head, they both began the ramp-up before the lyrics. Just as Dean opened his mouth to sing, Gabriel elbowed him and gave him a sad puppy face.

"Oh, you want to sing?" Dean asked, loud enough for the shoppers at the millinery counter to hear.   Sam smacked himself in the forehead.  Gabriel nodded enthusiastically. "Well alright then. You take it."

They ramped up for the lyrics again, and this time Gabriel opened his mouth wide, but as usual nothing came out. He snapped it shut and looked confused. A few ladies tittered in the audience. Gabriel cocked his head to the side and squinted his eyes.  He opened his mouth again, but closed it right away and shrugged.

"You don't know the words, do you?" Dean hissed in a stage whisper.   Gabriel shook his head.  "That's okay. You don't have to. You just sing whatever sappy drivel pops into your head. That's all Sam does."   Dean shot a wink in Sam's direction. It was answered with a forced scowl. The song ramped up for the start of the vocals once again.

" _When I'm low_ ,"Dean began, seemingly in earnest, " _and you're gone,_ " his voice was velvety, his clear timbre mixed with the growl of underuse. " _I don't have to go far_."

Sam narrowed his eyes as Dean ad libbed the words to the hit ballad.

" _I can fill any void with my car_." Gabriel made a face of consideration before nodding his approval.

" _All in black, rimmed in chrome. I'm truly happy when I call my baby home_."

"Those are NOT the words." Sam interjected, playfully.

"Stop trying to steal my spotlight, Samantha!" Dean sputtered through a musical interlude. Gabriel leaned back and shook his fist at Sam.

" _So if you want to find a way to make him stay, save all your cash and buy him a new Chevrolet_." Even Cas chuckled at that, tipping his head down as he rested his elbow on the piano.

"This is blasphemy!" Sam called out.

"Like your haircut!" Dean's smile reached his ears.  " _Girls have curves and lips and noses, eyes and ears. But I find they can't compete with shifting gears_."

"I sincerely apologize for this, ladies." Sam called out, gaily, as their banter had snowballed him firmly into the act.

" _So I sing, this lullaby, to my Baby - may your transmission never die_." He added a flourish which Gabriel dropped out of, opting to lean on the hood and simply watch.

"Take it, Cas." Dean launched into a jazzy rendition of Rock-a-Bye Baby.

" _Rock-a-bye baby, parked in the street._ " Cas's voice was deep and rumbly, walking along the edge of sarcasm. "  _You turn the head of each fellow you meet._ _ I describe you as graceful, a real shining star, so my fa_ _mily thinks I've a date, not a car_."

Dean threw back his head to laugh, which spread contagiously through the crowd of women. Gabriel stood up on the bench and began to shake his hands above his head as if he'd just won a prize. Suddenly he froze, and feigned a look of concern.

"What's all this? What's going on here?" Crowley's voice bounced frantically across the marble floor, muffled only by the immediate gaggle of interested onlookers. Dean looked over his shoulder and then hit the opening chords of the Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.   Then they were off, all four of them, dodging through the shoppers and making their way towards the farthest bank of elevators.

They all piled in, Gabriel having led the charge and become the most smushed.

"Where to, sir?" Cas positioned himself like an elevator attendant.

"Eighth floor, please, garçon." Dean replied.

"Going UP. Eighth floor. Empty suits, pills and windbags."  Cas closed the doors just as Crowley came hurrying around a corner with the floorwalker in tow.  
...............

Becky had squealed in delight when they appeared, and grown even more animated when relating the shady reputation of the Talbot's and some financial discrepancies that had mysteriously vanished before the investor meetings had begun.  Dean glazed over a bit and Gabriel pulled a Reuben out of his interior pocket and began to chow down, but Castiel and Sam followed her descriptions of deceptive accounting with grim intensity.

"So there is someone working this job from the inside." Cas surmised.

"Someone with a lot of power." Sam added.

"Winchester!!!" Crowley's voice came booming through the hall.

Becky reached for her purse, but Cas touched her wrist lightly and shook his head. Crowley barreled through the doorway, a hint of his fire burning off when he realized he'd stepped into the middle of the bunch, and that his authority didn't help him feel any less outnumbered.

"What is the meaning of this ruckus in the music department? I'm trying to run a store here, not a sideshow!" The man could bellow.

"I think that the performance was a good way to garner interest for the music we are selling. And it was appropriately tame." Sam straightened his back and pulled at his lapels as he spoke up for their shenanigans.

Becky let herself get a little weak in the knees. Crowley fumed.

“I’m putting out enough fires around this place without having to babysit you four.”  He slid his hand into his coat as if to stay the pangs of an ulcer.  Castiel observed with interest, while Dean retracted into himself, still on guard.

“What kind of fires are you putting out?”  Castiel asked, slowly. 

“A real gem of a detective, you are.  I’ve got a singing sensation snogging my salesgirls and being assaulted in the lifts.  Every piece of bad publicity that slips out about this store is money off our sale.  Which means it’s money out of my pocket.  I’ll not have the lot of you pissing away my payday before I even get to enjoy it.”

“Wait, you’re saying my incident has affected sales?”  Sam asked slowly, as if he really believed he was luring some kind of confession out of the man.

“Of course it has, you daft punk.  Not many men want their wives to go out and oggle the great Sam Winchester.  Less even if there’s a chance that they’ll be clobbered for their trouble.”

“But sir,” Becky piped up. “The sales figures have remained constant, with a slight increase.”

“Like bollocks they have.”  Crowley marched over to Becky’s desk and flipped open a thick ledger.  He thumbed through it with determination, but his page turning slowed as he read the lists of numbers more carefully.  “No.  This isn’t right.”  He flipped forward a few more pages and wrinkled his brow.  “This isn’t an accurate tally of all the department’s sales figures.  Even with the very slight bump in music-” (Sam puffed his chest a bit) “- we wouldn’t reach these numbers in ten years.”

Becky’s eyes grew as wide as saucers.  Sam and Dean looked apprehensive while Gabriel flicked the pegs of a decorative abacus.

“But that’s what I’ve been giving to all the investors!  And to potential buyers!  I’ve made pie charts!”  Becky’s hands fluttered in front of her face, fingers splayed and shaking before she clasped them into fists in an effort to regain composure.

“Well that’s just top notch.  Dean here loves pie.”  The usual mocking condescension had returned to Crowley’s voice, and Cas bristled.  “But these numbers came from the Pit, and they’re a fraud if I’ve ever seen one.  I think perhaps maybe it’s time you fairies flit on downstairs and solve an actual mystery.”

“Isn’t this your problem too?” Dean questioned.

Just then Zachariah came blustering through the door, one coat-tail flapping in the wind while the other appeared to have been sheared clean off.  Gabriel stepped into the shadows behind Sam, nonchalantly.

“Mr. Crowley, I have been vandalized, and I can’t work another minute in this state, knowing that I have been made to look a fool in front of our distinguished clientele!”

“Zachariah.  Please, take a seat.  As for you-” he glared at ‘the gang’, “please make your way to the Pit to see if you can resolve our little accounting issue.  I’ll be up here, working on it from my end.  And running the country’s fifth largest retail center.  No dill off my pickle.”

Sam, Dean, Cas and Gabriel stepped out of the office with all the reluctance of children who wanted to play outside before they finished their chores.

“You too, sweetheart.”  Crowley waved Becky out and personally shut the door behind her with a resolute click.

The five of them walked slowly towards the elevators, each brow wrinkled with thought.

“So, is he playing us?”  Sam finally asked, with a twinge of shame.

Castiel sent a swift _I say ‘no’, but it’s your call_ to Dean, via sparkling blue irises.  Dean bit down on a _I'm just never gonna trust him_ , which made Cas shrug an apologetic _the Devil you know_ …  Dean huffed an _alright, for now_ out of his nose and brushed his hands together as if he’d love to be rid of it all.

“Okay.  So.”  Sam raised his hands in defense when both men swiftly glared at him for daring to speak his thoughts out loud.  “Becky.  Why don’t you show us this Pit.”

Becky gulped and nodded, then led the way to the elevators.  She brought them all down to the lowest basement, and the lights flickered ominously as they disembarked.  The wide-open space was slightly unfinished, yet it contained rows upon rows of accounting stations, which all sat empty except for the largest desk in the very back.  There sat a man of medium build in dark suspenders, with sandy blond hair, flattened by work and general carelessness.  His jacket and trench coat were hung on the back of his chair, and his grey shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as scratched away at a ledger with an additional pencil behind his ear.

“Do we have a plan?” Sam whispered to anyone in earshot.  Dean smiled at nothing.

"The plan is to play it cool.”  Gabriel clapped silently, Cas nodded, and Sam rolled his eyes before Cas unceremoniously shoved him out in front.

“What can you tell me about the bookkeeping staff, Mr. Winchester?” Cas asked in a demanding tone.

“Well.” Sam stuttered. “As you can see they have left for the day, all except for the -” Sam squinted to read the nameplate on the lone man’s desk - “the Director of Finance, Luc Serpico.”

Castiel nodded and walked over to stand by Mr. Serpico’s desk.  Gabriel followed, also nodding.   Cas reached a hand out to still Gabriel’s nodding, which only seemed to make it worse.  Finally Gabriel began rolling his head in a circle and rotating his shoulders.  Cas turned to the Director of Finance.

“Hello. As the future owner of this store I’d like to ask you some questions about its financials.”

The man looked up slowly, a coy smile playing on his lips.  He slid his chair back and stood up to reach for Castiel’s hand.

“Hello there. I’m Luc Serpico.  And who might you be?”

“I’m a ‘what’ more than a ‘who’, unless I make it to third base,” he winked at Dean surreptitiously, “in which case I don’t know.”  Becky steadied herself on a desk. She was beginning to wonder if she had low blood pressure.

"Well what are you, then?" Luc released his hand and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his butt onto his desk with no hint of concern.

"I'm a very wealthy man with eviscerated morals. I was hoping you could show me how I could hypothetically cook my books so that they reported only positive gains to my investors." Cas heard a smattering of facepalms behind him, but Luc just smiled.

"Hypothetically. Hmm. Well you could hire Fergus Crowley as your executive director, for starters." Dean flashed a dark look at Sam.

"Noted. Gabriel, are you noting?"  Cas kept himself entirely focused on his ridiculous banter.  Gabriel pulled out a pad of paper and a fluffy quill and started scribbling.

"That's really all there is to it." Luc shrugged as if he'd just revealed that all his pie crusts were store bought.  Gabriel took notes in hexamic pentameter. The quill started tickling Luc's nose, and he stepped aside, looking put out.  Castiel turned to face Sam and Dean.

"We... hypothetically need to figure out who Crowley is using for misdirection."

"Whadaya mean?" Dean jutted his closest ear forward.

"Well anyone with half a brain is going to be able to figure out these figures are fraudulent. There's most likely a beautiful dame of some sort that pops up from time to time and leads the conversation away from the ...hypothetical specifics." Cas stood as upright as usual, his back facing the still-interested Director of Finance.

"That'd be Lillith, then." Becky snarled her name and crossed her arms at her waist.

Dean's eyes honed in on Luc Serpico when Becky said the name Lillith. He saw a thought he saw a flicker of recognition. He sent a look to Cas, requesting more information.

"Sam, do you know this hypothetical Lillith?" Cas tilted his head.

"Yeah. She's supposed to represent an independent accounting firm, but now that you mention it, she's always dropping things and talking about her dogs."

"We should check her out. Hypothetically." Cas announced.

Dean put his hands on his hips, bit his cheek and gave a nod of assent.  His eyes tracked Luc, who was fidgeting his way around his desk, rearranging this and that until he had circled around to his phone.

Gabriel whistled from the elevator. Dean gave up his surveillance to follow Sam, Cas and Becky back upstairs.  He grimaced as the doors clanged shut, bitter that Luc was probably going to call and give someone a heads-up.  Gabriel tapped Dean's shoulder and handed him a flower made of phone cord, knotted and bowed at one end.

"Is this what I think it is?" Dean smiled in relief.

Gabriel rested his cheek on his favorite oversized shears and batted his eyes, bashfully.

"Good move, man. Hypothetically."  Dean looked over and dared Cas to smirk, with his mind. Becky hypothetically asphyxiated on vicarious sexual tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spoiler alert?* I know you're looking for some kissing. Full disclosure - the kissin' has been written since forever. Just have to get myself there with the story - WHICH I'VE DONE. That means next chapter. Guaranteed. Thanks for reading thus far!


	9. A kiss with a fist is better than none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovies!  
> Apologies for the delay! Holiday blues, etc. This chapter contains the least amount of madcap hi-jinx, because madcap hi-jinx work best when the gang is all together.

They rode the elevator for ten minutes, discussing their next move before anyone noticed that Gabriel was running them up and down the floors without ever opening the doors.  Fortuitously, only Zachariah noticed that his favorite elevator car wasn't answering his call, though he watched the numbers climb and fall for a good eight minutes before stomping away to take the stairs.

"So, how are we gonna get to Lilith?" Dean opened.  Gabriel flipped his shabby bowler inside out, which turned it into a top hat.  He breathed on his fingernails and buffed them on his lapel.

"We need to bait her into leading us back to her employer." Castiel surmised.

Gabriel produced a boutonniere and tucked it into his lapel.

"But she works for the auditors." Sam said, confused.

"Her shady employer." Cas clarified.

"That Serpico guy seemed to know her name. But I wouldn't put anything past Crowley." Dean rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.

"I wish there were some way to gather them all together, create some chaos, and then observe their reactions."  Cas fretted.

Becky jumped up, suddenly and the whole car bounced on its cable.

"The investors gala! It's tomorrow night!"

Dean wrinkled his forehead.

"Man, I've been refusing to go to that for weeks."

Sam grinned and spread his arms in the exaggerated gesture of a big band leader.

"It looks like Dean can't escape hearing me sing." Sam sang, and swayed.

"You're performing? This is the perfect cover." Cas assessed the members of their elevator hijack gang, and came up short.

"I'll put you all on the guest list." Becky stated, proud of her absolute invitational power.

"Please add a plus one for me." Cas stated. Dean's head turned and his eyes narrowed. Cas squinted in return.  But everyone else was also giving him much milder questioning gazes, so he explained, without breaking eye contact with Dean.  "We may need our own Lilith. I think I know someone who could help." The group nodded. "Dean, would you like to go have a drink with me?"

The elevator was suddenly very hot, according to Becky, Dean and Gabriel, who had started shining his shoe down on one knee.

"Then who's watching Sam?"

Sam rolled his eyes, and Gabriel threw his hands up as if to say can you people even see me, here?  

"Gabe and I will take your car to the Roadhouse.  I forgot to tell you, Bobby wanted us to check in.  You can take my car, and we'll all meet back at my place."  He smiled, smugly as Dean pouted over the swapping of vehicles.

"I dunno...."

"I'll go to the Roadhouse with you, Sam.  Without Dean and Castiel you'll need the extra back-up, and it would be nice if I checked on Garth."  Sam sputtered as he looked for an excuse to leave Becky behind, but Gabriel threw his hands wide and then pushed his palms into his cheeks as if he were just blushing with joy.  Dean clapped the sputtery Sam on the shoulder.

"Well, that settles it.  Here are the keys.  See you back at your place."  They traded key-chains and Dean and Cas turned to leave, but Dean whirled back around and pointed at Sam.  "And don't you touch my radio."

 

...............

The sign above the door read "Purgatory" and though Dean had gone out drinking less and less, lately,  he was still surprised that he had never heard of it.  The basement level windows were fogged up, but dancing with color.  That made sense when they opened the street-level door and traveled down a steep and narrow staircase to the main door, still equipped with a sliding eyehole.

Cas knocked three times.  The eyehole slid open, and two soulful brown eyes, lined and mascaraed peered out, blinking softly.

"Password?"  A sweet and low female voice requested.

"Is that really necessary, Mis?"  Castiel cocked his head.

"Humor me, child.  I haven't seen this one before."

"Um. Bartholomew."

"Uh, uh."  The eyes shook their head no.

"Gadreel."

"Try again."

Castiel shifted from one foot to the other, looking a little put-out.

"Castiel." Dean tried, with a smirk.  The eyes darted to take him in.

"It ain't Thursday yet, Sugar."

Castiel sighed and let his eyes roam around the entryway.  It was bare, except for a chalkboard with a hastily scrawled caricature of a football player sketched onto it with no context offered.  Cas squinted at it, which made Dean examine it.

"Hail Mary!"  Dean announced.  The eyes smiled at him and the peep hole slid shut, then the door was opened.  

"Mis" as she was so called by Cas, was a short, rotund black lady who couldn't have been older than 40 with pretty features and smoothly plated hair  She was wearing a  black dress that seemed at once timeless and out of place in the atmosphere of the club, and she ushered them in with a welcoming gesture.

"When did the password stop being angels?"  Cas asked, a little hurt.

"After you so drastically lowered our opinion of them." Mis shot back, with a wink. "Now who is this, and can he handle our scene?"

"That's Dean.  The bartender piped up. "And he should be asking us if we can handle him."  The tall, black man set down the glass he was drying and came around the back, towel thrown over his shoulder.  He was dressed to the nines in a full tuxedo, which felt more like a uniform and less like a way to cause Mis to seem underdressed.

"Victor." Dean reached forward immediately to clasp the man's hand, but his voice was full of playful warning.  "How are you, man?  It's been a long time."

"You want the whole story?"  Dean nodded at his old acquaintance.  " Well the cops fired me as their snitch, I got worked over pretty good, and was reborn as the king of Purgatory.  I honestly thought I'd run into you a little sooner than this.  We get all types down here."

Dean chuckled, but Cas could feel an undertow of discomfort in the way he absently swung his arms.

"Gotta keep my nose clean for Sam."  Dean explained.

"Even tonight?" Victor eyed him with cautious optimism.  Dean glanced at Cas as if to say, _Honey, save me from where this is headed, without being rude._  Cas's face answered with a puzzled _since when do you trust me to be polite_?  Victor put his hands up in surrender, as if he had heard every word.  Cas turned to explain.

"We're actually looking for Meg."

"Lucky for you, she's on in a few minutes." Victor provided.

"Aw, and here I thought you had come to buy this fine man a drink." Mis complained.  Cas flexed his jaw.

"Dean, this is Missouri.  Missouri, this is Dean.  Please be cautious.  She reads minds."  Victor had made his way back behind the bar, and Cas quickly stepped up opposite him.  "I'll have two old fashions."

"That's better."  Missouri purred.  Dean swallowed, and swayed away from her.  She eyed him.  "Oh, don't be shy.  I can promise you, there ain't nothing in that pretty little head of yours that I'd be opposed to seeing.  With that she gave them a parting wink and turned her attention back to the door.

Cas paid Victor for their drinks, and since the bartender was then requested for several more orders, he opted to carry their glasses to a corner booth by the tiny stage that was spotlit, but currently empty save for a small organ and a stand-up bass.  They settled in across from one another and took a few moments taking in the atmosphere.  The bar was dingy, but not grimy.  It was hazy and it smelled of orange peel and anise.  A few artist types sat around little tables far from the stage, and hung over each other, laughing and  sharing drinks and cigarettes without any reservations about the gender or skin tone of their companions.  Dean could dig it, and for a moment he longed for the days when love of drink had made criminals out of all of them.  Those were the days when he could rub knees with anyone at the bar and know that despite their differences, they were actively sharing the bond of breaking the law.  Purgatory seemed to hold on to some vestige of that, being a kaleidoscope of people all draped over one another like cats in the sun.  If they were sharing anything it was the knowledge that the regular Joe upstairs would judge their abundant affections to be somewhere between distasteful and despicable.

"So Dean..." Cas brought him out of his reverie.

"So Cas..."  Dean locked eyes with his host and sipped his perfectly mixed cocktail.

"For some reason people seem to know you. Should I be jealous?"

"Yeah, well." Dean cleared his throat. "Not everyone. Who are we looking for, again?"

"Her name is Meg.  She is a friend who I can occasionally bribe to assist me.  And she is... wily."  Cas looked away, getting lost in his own descriptor.

"Really?"  Dean eyed Cas over his glass.  "Should I be jealous?"

Cas whipped his gaze back to scrutinize his date.

"That is an excellent question."

They held a staring contest and Cas won as Dean was distracted by a woman in the distance with a cloying laugh.

"Are you ever going to tell me about it?" Cas asked, quietly.

"You're the detective." Dean shot back, quickly, but without venom.

"Sam is my case.  You are my client."

"So?  Sounds like you've got an opening for a little mystety."  Dean didn't let his gaze reconnect, and turned a little pink around the ears.  Cas licked his lips and Dean made a show of tipping his head back to capture the remainder of his drink.  

"Well, well, well," a sultry voice cut through the air like a sexy icicle.  "I came over to see if you'd buy me a drink, but I'm afraid I'd need a machete to cut through all this tension."  A short, curvy white woman with long dark plaits stood statuesquely next to their table, one full leg peeking through the slit in her sequined gown.

"Meg." Castiel answered, evenly.  "This is  Dean.  Dean, this is Meg.  We have a favor to ask."

Dean looked on with a less than genial interest.  As he eyed Meg, he also noticed a young, smartly dressed Asian boy stepping lithely onto the stage and beginning to tune the bass.

"A favor?  This ought to be rich.  Better hold that thought until I'm done.  Enjoy the show.  Pleasure to meet you, Dean."  Meg lifted her hand up to her mouth and blew Dean the most sarcastic kiss he'd ever received via air mail.  He did not reach up to retrieve it.

Meg slunk up to the stage, alongside a tall drink of water in a black suit.  He sat down at the piano as she stationed herself in front of the microphone.

"Hello Purgatory.  I'm Meg, and  these two fine gentlemen behind me are Kevin and Gadreel, also know as The Empty Vessels."  There was a smattering of excited applause.  "I know."  Meg gushed.  "I can't wait to hear me sing either.  Hit it, boys."

Kevin and Gadreel launched into a mid-tempo blues progression.  Meg closed her eyes and smiled.

_"A little girl like me_   
_feels a harsh reality_   
_I''ve had my fun, so now I'm used_   
_I've said "yes" when I should have refused..."_

The tempo picked up, and Meg began to punctuate her singing with kitty paws and an imaginary tail that she really seemed to relish swishing about.

_"I've got nine lives_   
_just like a cat._   
_I just hope I'm a man_   
_next time I come back."_

Dean scoffed into his newest drink, which Victor had kindly delivered them at their table.

" _A little girl like me_ "  Meg stepped off the platform and started weaving through the tables.  
" _feels a harsh reality_."  She ran her fingers through the curls of a scowling older man in work clothes.  
" _They say my appetite will send me to hell_."  She lunged her leg out of the slit in her dress, for emphasis.  
 _"But if you're gonna be there, it's not a hard sell_."  She winked at Cas.  Dean huffed in amusement while the rest of the bar up and cheered her willingness for damnation.

"She is... spirited."  Cas declared, undecided as to whether it was simply a declaration or an apology of sorts.  

_"I don't know why_   
_I've hung on so long_   
_Next time I want to be_   
_Six-four and blonde."_

Dean rolled his eyes, and sucked and ice cube into his mouth.  It was gonna be an interesting night.

 

.........................

When they finally did get to talk to Meg about raising a little hell with them at the Winchester's Private Investor Gala, she was game and she told them so right away.  Then she wandered to the bar to cavort with her fans, and Dean and Cas decided a little air would do them good.  They made sure Sammy's car would be safe overnight, and set off walking towards the suburbs.  The warmth of Purgatory and the booze they had consumed dissipated slowly, so that by the time they were cooled enough to chat, they had to wrestle with not chattering.  But it was a companionable silence.

The Impala was not yet parked in Sam's driveway, which made Dean acutely uncomfortable.  The house was dark when he entered, Cas following quietly behind him, both of them on alert for anything hinky.  Dean flipped on some lights and started a pot of coffee boiling on the stove while Cas checked around the upstairs as an extra precaution.  

Dean came out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee to find Cas sitting at the piano, hands in his lap.

"Play something." Dean prompted him.

"I'm not the musician." Cas stood and inched away from the piano, into Dean's personal space and accepted the coffee.

"Neither am I." Dean answered, swaying on his feet, but not moving.

"You're good with your hands." Cas sipped his coffee, then set the cup gently down on an end table.

"Oh? Word really gets around. You're good at ignoring personal space."

Cas huffed a smile.

"I'm also the best dancer in the room.  But i deduced your skills with your hands, just as I also deduced you carry an impressive weapon."

Dean stepped closer to Cas, letting the detective feel his breath on his ear.

"I also have a pretty nice gun."

Cas dipped his head towards Dean's husky voice, and they were suddenly cheek to cheek.  Dean reached his hands forward into Cas's coat and placed his hands on the shorter man's hips, smoothing down the baggy white shirt and feeling the firmly muscled torso underneath.  Cas dragged his mouth along the stubble of Dean's jaw until their lips met, and they easily fell into their first eyes-closed wordless conversation.  

 _This all makes a hell of a lot more sense now_ , kissed Dean.

 _You're infuriatingly subtle_ , necked Cas, before emphasizing his impatience by stepping forward and pressing up against Dean with enough force to send them toppling backwards over a short, teak magazine rack.  Even as they sputtered and laughed their hands wound their way back to fist handfuls of each others clothing.

Suddenly the familiar sound of a key turning in a lock cut through their panting like a gunshot.  A moment later the door would swing open and leave two grown men to try and explain why they were tangled in a heap on the floor.

Castiel was pinned on the bottom where he watched Dean’s dark eyes widen with the sudden fear of exposure.  His mind raced through a million possible scenarios and outcomes until he finally landed on the best possible option.  He jutted his fist up and clocked Dean squarely on the chin.

Dean’s head snapped to the side with the force of Cas’s fist, but he caught on quick and responded immediately, winding back to pound Cas’s face into the ground.  He let his fist fly, and Cas narrowly dodged it.  Dean grunted at his miss and reached both hands towards Cas’s throat.

At this point Sam had entered and gotten over the initial shock of walking in on a fistfight.  He lunged forward and pulled Dean off of Cas easily, and with so much oomph that Dean was afforded a chance to kick at the air like a child before he was set on his feet.  

Gabriel had darted in behind Sam, and helped Castiel off the floor and dusted him off with a short broom he just happened to have in his overcoat pocket.

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Sam yelled with exasperation.

Neither Dean or Cas answered him for a beat.

“I mean it, guys.  What the hell?  Someone better start talking.”

Dean couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the floor.  Cas could see him flexing his jaw, likely tonguing the welt that had begun to blossom on his beautiful chin.

“We may have had a little disagreement.”  Cas stated simply.  Dean nodded, still looking at the floor.

“Yeah I kind of guessed that part.  Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

Gabriel’s eyes darted back and forth between the guilty men, with interest.  He leaned his head down for a moment to try and meet Castiel’s eyes, but Castiel looked away.  A light of understanding blossomed in the quiet man.  He turned to Sam apologetically and wolf whistled while miming the silhouette of a shapely woman.

“A girl?  This is over a girl?”  Sam was incredulous for a moment, but Dean and Cas were both handsome in their own ways.  The idea of a woman coming between them wasn’t that far fetched.

“Well look, whatever the issue, I don’t care.  You’re just going to have to kiss and make up.”

Dean and Cas winced slightly at his choice of terminology.

"Alright. I apologize." Cas stated awkwardly.

"Yeah okay. I'm sorry too." Dean replied.  Both men seemed to be avoiding eye contact with anyone but Sam.

"Well that will have to do, I guess." Sam griped, slowly.  "I'm gonna go make some coffee.  Try not to hit each other anymore, okay?"

The room emptied and Cas and Dean found themselves alone once more.  Cas rubbed his neck, contemplatively.

Dean concentrated on breathing in and out, slowly.  On the inhales he reminded himself it didn’t mean anything, they were simply victims of circumstance.  On the exhales he tried to purge himself of the residual excitement that he could still feel stirring in his blood.  He closed his eyes and examined his core.  He was in tact.  He would be fine.  He had everything under control and this whole ordeal was based on nothing more than a cute set of blue eyes and the adrenaline rush that comes with the possibility of being discovered.

He opened his eyes with a start when smooth lips gently kissed his bruised chin, then retreated.  And with that one simple gesture of apology he was ruined.  He could feel the heat in his chest break through the usual barriers and arrive at his brain with a telegram and a white flag.  HELLO DEAN STOP ALL IS LOST STOP YOU ARE IN LOVE STOP GOOD LUCK AND GODSPEED STOP.

He had to stop himself from punching a wall.


	10. These Dames are Plumb Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spotlight is stolen from Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead yet!
> 
> I apologize. I had an art show and the preparations took up all my nights and daydreams. But it was a success and I'm BACK. Back, and excited.
> 
> I kind of let the ladies get a little out of control, because I feel that a modern Marx Brothers movie would have needed that. Hope you like.

The Winchester’s Investor Gala took place in the mezzanine of the store, with all the merchandise moved out of the way and replaced with tables and chairs, risers for a band, and several long buffet tables covered with dazzling china and the finest catering that could be found in their fair city. Gabriel was in heaven as he attempted to fit the contents of one full buffet table into the interior pockets of his coat, flatware included. Thanks to the luck of the angels, the staff always seemed to be looking the other way.

 

When it came time for the official fanfare Sam entered the party first, with Jess on his arm. She was wearing a low-backed navy blue gown with her hair pinned expertly. Sam beamed with twitterpated pride, which had Dean writing him off as being of any use during the evening’s expedition, but proud of his little brother nonetheless.

 

Cas and Meg entered after Sam, with Cas dressed in a surprisingly well-fitted black tuxedo, and Meg standing out in a V-neck gown of sparkling red sequins. She waved at Dean smugly before they made their entrance. Dean just narrowed his eyes at her. That dame seemed like trouble, and she was wrapped around Cas’s arm like an adder.

 

Becky and Gabriel entered next. Becky had swiped Gabriel a suit from the store. It was chocolate brown and a little bit big, but there had been no time (or budget) for tailoring. She somehow complimented him with her sage green taffeta suit.

 

Finally, Dean stood alone in his best charcoal grey tux. _Get used to it, Winchester,_ he thought. He was suddenly punched in the arm.

 

“Well it looks like I’m just in time to break up this pity party.” Jo stood with her hands on her hips. She was dressed in cream with gold sequins, a sight to behold.

 

“Well I’ll be.” Dean replied, somewhat dumbly.

 

“Thank you. Now shut your trap and escort me to this damn party.”

 

Dean grinned and offered her his elbow, leaning closer to speak in a hushed tone.

 

“Who called you? You in the know?”

 

Jo rolled her eyes before leveling him with a glare.

 

“Sam called Bobby. Bobby told mom. Mom sent me over to keep an eye on you. She didn’t like the sound of this Lilith.”

 

Dean chuckled as he carefully walked Jo down the long marble staircase in the middle of the room.

 

“Good. We need all the help we can get. If nothing else, just to run interference between Becky and Sam.” He indicated with a flick of his chin, and Jo turned to see Becky trying to serve Sam punch as Jess looked on with a tired expression. Gabriel stuck a lobster tail into his breast pocket.

 

Dean began to scan the crowd, looking for anything suspicious. His eyes found Crowley, standing with a striking redhead who looked to be a head taller than him. He glanced over at Sam, who was luckily just looking his way. Dean raised his eyebrows towards Crowley's date. Sam responded with a small head shake that translated _no, not Lilith._ Still, it warranted some investigating. Dean steered Jo over to stand by Crowley, and must have beamed the message out to Cas on the way because he and Meg materialized at Dean's elbow only a moment later.

 

"Is it just me, or is Crowley's date burning down?" Cas whispered to Meg loud enough to turn heads. The frighteningly capable looking woman just glared at Cas.

 

"Ignore him," Meg purred as she offered a gloved hand to the vixen. "He's just jealous of you. I'm Meg Masters, and much to Castiel here's dismay, I don't run a department store or have an alluring accent."

 

"Abbadon Hastings." The woman answered, grasping Meg's hand lightly for a moment. "I'll have to warn Castiel here not to test me. I'm rather possessive." She wrapped her arm around Crowley's until he was squeezed to distraction.

 

"Enough!" Crowley turned from a hushed conversation with one of the floorwalkers with annoyance painted on his brows. "You little hell hounds are sniffing around the wrong hydrant. Now go make yourself useful and bother the actual villain, or I'll have you ejected." He turned away from them immediately, which worked in Dean's favor, at least to stop Jo from pinching the tender skin on the inside of his elbow in an effort to silence whatever clever retort he could come up with in the next five seconds.

 

“Well it seems my date is a little preoccupied. I suppose I’ll go find myself a drink. Would you care to join me?” Abbadon addressed no one but Meg. Meg licked her lips.

 

“Why? Are you coming apart?” Meg batted her eyelashes.

 

Castiel rolled his eyes, finding Dean on the downswing as usual.

 

 _She clearly stole that line from you._ Dean smirked at Cas.

 

 _You know me too well._ Cas leveled back, with sincerity.

 

 _Not as well as I could._ Dean replied using the saucy but subtle jut of his bottom lip.

 

By the time they had finished silently conversing, Abbadon and Meg had slunk away, hips swinging in unison.

 

“Jesus.” Jo breathed, flapping her hand at her face in a lame attempt at fanning. “Did you guys put something in the water?” She released Dean’s arm and took a step back. “I’m gonna go find this Lilith character before the whole place breaks down into… into an orgy!”

 

She stomped away, just toeing the line of a noticeable affront to what was expected of a lady in an evening gown. Only Sam and Jess picked up on the clompy gait from across the room. Sam grimaced with a shadow of concern when he noticed Dean and Cas keeping each other company. Dean was puzzled for a moment, until he remembered they were still supposed to be at odds after fighting over some woman. He schooled his face into a what he determined to be mild consternation. Castiel was too busy biting at one of his cuticles to notice the change.

 

“You know, we’re supposed to be fighting.” Dean spoke out of the side of his mouth, without turning to face his friend.

 

“What? Right now?” Cas looked around frantically for his missed cue.

 

“No, not- You and I had a- a thing. A _fight._ ” Dean finally turned his head and made eye contact, needing his eyebrows to be visible for the sake of allusion.

 

“Oh that? That was ages ago. Why, it’s been at least 20 hours since then.”

 

“Yeah, practically forever.” Dean bit, sarcastically.

 

Cas nibbled and glared at his offending finger one more time before resigning to leave it alone and move on to looking suitably abashed. He clasped his hands behind his back and sent a round of sheepish looks out, interspersed between Dean and the floor.

 

“Well gee, I didn’t know you’d be so sore about it.”

 

“Well I’m not sore about it.” Dean scanned the room again, searching out the nearest bar. “Yet. I could be. Sometime soon.” He honed in a man serving drinks at a counter to their left, and started off that direction, tossing an almost imperceptible wink back at Cas. Cas blushed.

 

“I’ve always tried to remain ignorant of the meaning of Dean’s winks, but I’m guessing everything’s alright now?” Sam was suddenly within speaking distance of Cas, who jumped when he realized the younger Winchester was looming beside him.

 

“I believe so, though I’m suspicious of Jo’s theory that there is something in the water provoking an unprecedented amount of innuendo in this evening’s guests.” Cas relayed this conviction clinically, his voice deep with concern.

 

“Oh. Well I always say, when Dean goes in a door, love goes innuendo.” Sam delivered the line with a hint of hopeful uncertainty. Cas suddenly regarded him with the full fervor of his gaze.

 

“Unacceptable. You are the straight man here, Sam. You’d do well to remember that. Come along, Dean.” Dean didn’t get to finish approaching with drinks before Cas clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward a bit, as if leading Dean away from Sam with the tip of his nose.

 

Sam sighed, and allowed himself 30 seconds to gloat about having the most radiant, and certainly the most genuine girlfriend in the room. When his 30 seconds were up he let the usual melancholy over the state of the universe wash back over him, distracting himself from the wrongs of society by thinking about the very positive and inclusive music conservatory he was going to build with his share of the Winchester department store sale profit.

 

……………………………

 

Lilith was a very blond woman with a severe scowl that she seemed to think she was concealing behind a cloyingly ingenuous smile. Jo was used to serving all types of parasitic women at the Roadhouse, so once she got the bead on Lilith there was no love lost. She sidled towards the woman in the deceivingly white gown, and pretended to examine the chocolate fountain very closely. Lilith paid no mind to Jo, too busy loudly flirting with a portly middle-aged gentleman who looked as if he were ready to buy her a villa in thanks for her meaningless flattery. Jo did her best not to gag as the man slobbered all over Lilith’s hand and called it a kiss, before walking away.

 

“Useful, but not the reason you’re here, Lilith.” Jo’s ears perked up as a nondescript gentleman in a tux leaned in to speak with her target.

 

“I know. It was simply a warm-up. Working my way up to the Winchester. He is, after all, a tall order.” Lilith looked very pleased with herself. Jo rolled her eyes, and shoved a wedge of chocolate covered pineapple into her mouth, before she was bumped in the elbow by a very enthusiastic Becky.

 

“Oh, oops! Fancy meeting you here. But then again - chocolate!” She smiled at Jo as she loaded a small plate with far more desserts than necessary. Jo gulped, then let her eyes go wide, surreptitiously jerking her pineapple skewer towards Lilith and hoping to God that Becky could interpret the _hey, she’s over there_ that she was willing through her face.

 

It must have worked, because she received a positively beaming, but thankfully silent, _oh my God! We’re doing the thing! The not talking thing! Oh hey, there’s Lilith! Holy crap!_ back from Becky, who nearly dropped her plate in all her poorly concealed excitement. At that moment Becky and Jo caught sight of Meg sauntering by the chocolate fountain, just on the other side of the table. The three women all made eye contact, and with a sultry wink and a demure flick of Meg’s wrist, their plot was hatched and set into motion.

 

……………..

 

“No, no, no.” Becky was insisting, in her most official and unappealing timbre. “It really is no trouble. I’ll just get the key out of Mr. Crowley’s drawer, and we’ll go get you a new dress right away. I insist.”

 

“Well I hope you’re right about this.” Lilith hissed as she followed Becky into the eighth floor administration suite. She was hugging her shawl around her waist and looking around with furious unease.

 

“I’m really just So. Very. Sorry.” Meg followed them into the office, forcing herself to look away from the splotchy chocolate stain on the rear of Lilith’s dress, for fear of being caught smirking. Jo popped through the office door last, wielding a bottle of seltzer.

 

“These people are just too easy to steal from.” She muttered as she shut the door, then locked it. The quiet click of the tumblers did not go undetected, Lilith turned around to face them, narrowing her eyes.

 

“Wait a minute! Who exactly are you people?”

 

“That depends.” Meg purred, stepping forward with a dangerous look in her eyes as Jo leaned idly against the only exit and tapped her seltzer bottle against her hand as if weighing a bat. “We’re either your worst nightmare or your new best friends.”

 

Lilith frowned and tried to look haughty. Becky kept one hand inside her purse.

 

……………………………….

 

At quarter to eight a pageboy summoned Sam to a side room so that he and his band could ready themselves for their performance.

 

“I’m sorry to leave you like this.” He apologized to Jess, searching the room for Cas or Dean or even Gabriel, if it meant not leaving Jess standing alone at the party.

 

“Please, Sam, it’s no problem. I can’t wait to see you sing.” She squeezed his arm and gave him a warm smile before he was pulled away. When he was out of sight she scanned the room, realizing that Becky, Meg and Jo had all disappeared with what had appeared to be a very embarrassingly soiled Lilith in their clutches. She sighed when she considered the fact that her perfect Sam had tried to shield her from potential dangers he was so bravely facing in his effort to become a successful singer and mentor, and sell his shares of the store. Unfortunately for him, Becky was so loyal, that she had fought through her jealousy to let Jess know exactly what was going on (or at least, the Becky version, which focused somewhat unnecessarily on her delusions regarding the secret and forbidden romance between Castiel and Dean). Now that Jess was armed with the knowledge of what was happening, she desperately wanted to help. She sighed and looked towards the stage. She had heard Sam sing before. Her time was better spent finding and assisting her new cohorts.

 

...................

 

Sam adjusted his tie while flexing his jaw, nervously. Everything was probably going fine on the other side of the curtain, but he’d feel better if he had an up-to-date progress report. Had Lilith been located? Was Abbadon going to be a problem? Were Crowley and Lucifer pointing fingers at one another when they were really in it together? Sam grimaced. He’d perform better if at least one or two of his fears were put to rest. He darted out of his makeshift dressing room, and nearly tripped over Dean and Cas.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I watch you. That’s my job.” Dean looked at Sam as if he’d grown a second head, for asking.

 

“I am also watching you two. Too. The both of you, also.” Cas added.

 

Gabriel burst through +a rack of canary yellow rain ponchos that were acting as a makeshift border between the party area and the rest of the store. He honked the horn at the top of his walking stick, then handed Dean a note to read aloud.

 

“‘Has anyone noticed that all of our dates are missing?’” Dean quickly looked around for Jo, who was indeed absent from the mezzanine. Cas just shrugged, knowing full well that Meg was independent like a Siamese cat. Sam beamed.

 

“My date’s not.”

 

Dean glanced around again, eager to argue. His eyes located Jess across the hall, just as she was stepping into an empty elevator.

 

“Well she is….. now.” The elevator doors dinged shut. “Now she’s missing.” Dean gloated.

 

Sam’s face fell. Everyone took a moment to breath in, for a mental regroup.

 

Dean stepped forward and patted his brother on the shoulder.

 

“Break a leg out there, Sammy.”

 

Cas nodded his agreement, and shot Gabriel a serious stare before power-walking off towards the elevators behind Dean. Sam’s ego let him pout a moment, before he realized Gabriel was still there.

 

“You’ll stay, right?”

 

Gabriel pulled an ear horn out of his pocket and stuck it in his ear to indicate how enthusiastically he wanted to hear Sam’s performance. The effect was only slightly dimmed when a cream puff fell out of the bell and splattered on the floor with a dull thwack.

 

…………………………………..

 

Dean and Cas traveled up the elevator to the eighth floor, somehow intuiting that the missing members of their party had ended up in the executive suite. They disembarked to the tune of Sam’s radio hit, Your Face. Dean assumed it was a trick of the acoustics, until he realized that the closer he got to the door of the office, the louder the tune became. He shot Cas a quizzical glare over his shoulder. Cas returned it with a squinty nod. Dean reached for the handle.

 

The bridge of Your Face hit them square between the eyes at a volume setting of eleven when they swung the door open fully. It was followed by the shrapnel of five sets eyes, all containing various degrees of surprise and anger.

 

Lilith, who looked fit to explode, was tied neatly to the chair behind Becky’s desk. Jess was stationed at the Victrola, apparently in charge of the blaring soundtrack. Joe and Meg flanked Lilith on either side of the desk while Becky stood off to the side and was, disconcertingly, the only one with sense enough to look guilty.

 

“Shit.” Jo wrinkled her nose. “We didn’t lock the door behind Jess.”

 

“Let me get this straight.” Dean coughed as he took in the scene. “You’re using Sam’s big hit as a … torture device?”

 

“I know, it doesn’t make sense! But it’s been strangely effective.” Becky stuttered. Meg shot her down with a raised eyebrow.

 

“It’s mostly served to drown out the bitching.” Meg examined her blood red nails, boredly, as if hostage situations were an everyday occurrence for her.

 

“Desperate times-” Joe began brandishing her seltzer bottle like a gangster once again.

 

“And I am intimately familiar with what listening to the same song over and over, day after day, can do to a person, no matter how nice a song it is.” Jess grumbled.

 

“Besides, Becky said ‘no knives’.” Cas tutted at Meg and shook his head.

 

“You just wait-” Lilith spit. “You - When Mr. Serpico gets his hands on you- I hope you enjoyed getting paid while it lasted. You’re through here. All of you!”

 

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.” Meg through her hands in the air as if it were her responsibility to let everyone know Lilith had just scored a touchdown. “Cas, tell the lady about her prize.”

 

“Well you see, you said the super secret word of the day - Serpico.” Cas smoothed his rough voice into something more radio friendly. “You’ve landed yourself an all-expense paid trip to Winchester’s decadent in-house criminal holding cell.” Dean watched Cas monologue, and licked his lips. Becky nudged Jess with her elbow. Jess gave Becky a conciliatory dip of the head. “Located just eight floors below us, you’ll be treated to the finest cold wooden bench that money can offer.” He produced a pair of handcuffs from the pocket of his tux. “Phenomenal work, ladies. You may unleash her into our custody. I have a feeling this is the last you’ll be seeing of...her face.”

 

Jo and Jess groaned at the reference as Becky stepped forward, suddenly wielding a menacing, ivory-handled knife.

 

“Whoa! I thought you said no knives.” Dean stepped backwards with involuntary concern.

 

“I said we couldn’t _use_ them, not that we didn’t _have_ them.” Lilith had the good sense to sit still as Becky sawed through her constraints.

 

“Your friends are a bunch of spoilsports, Cas. I’m gonna scram, if it’s all the same.”

 

“Don’t even think you’re getting out of this.” Lilith hissed. “We’ll hunt you down, you just wait!”

 

“Is that a promise?” Meg leaned herself over the desk, sliding forward enough to let her feet hang in the air as leverage, just so she could tap Lilith gently on the nose. “Boop.” Dean rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “Bring it on, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting.” She righted herself, blew Lilith a kiss, squeezed Cas’s elbow and sent Dean a mischievous wink. Then she was gone, with stares of abhorrence and adoration floating in her wake.

 

Your Face ground to a halt on the Victrola, and everyone breathed a deep sigh of relief.

 

 


	11. He knows things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solving a mystery with that flapper style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead yet.  
> I feel happy.  
> I want to go for a walk.

The Winchester's "jail" was a small security office in the basement with a true-to-life holding cell that featured iron bars from floor to ceiling. Cas was amused. Winchester's really did seem to have everything. Lilith was not as keen.

“This is absolutely despicable behavior.” Lilith seethed with rage in her still-soiled dress. “I’ve heard all about you Winchesters, but the rumors don’t do you scumbags justice!” Cas led Lilith into the store jail with an iron grip that tightened slightly at the word “scumbags”.

“You want to see despicable?” He asked calmly. “We can go find a flight of stairs to fall down.”

“Easy there, Cas. I thought you had a thing for bearcats.” Dean’s teasing sounded rather accusatory. Cas pulled the iron door shut with a sharp yank.

“You know, Dean, I think you would do well to learn the difference between admiration and affection.”

“And they’re a couple of queers to boot. Fabulous.” Lilith muttered to no one. 

Dean batted his eyelashes at Cas.

“Do we need to wait around to see who comes to her rescue?” Cas asked.

“Nah. I don’t feel like it. It’ll probably just be some lackey. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“No, wait! If you leave me here, why I - I’ll have you hunted and skinned!” She stood in the middle of the cell, her hands clasped into fists at her sides.

“Don’t worry. You may not be the biggest fish, but you’ll always be the coldest.” Cas swung the door to the hallway open with a wink. Dean paused to blow Lilith a kiss, which Cas grabbed out of the air before it could reach her. He scowled, and hauled Dean into the deserted stairwell by the arm.

“Playing fast and loose with your kisses there, Winchester.” Cas trudged up the grey stairs towards the first landing, pulling Dean along behind him.

“Eh. I get that way around a nice dress, sometimes.” Dean admitted to the floor. Cas stopped walking to turn and give him a bemused smile, as if he’d just discovered Dean and he had the same favorite ice cream flavor. Dean glanced up to check his reaction, holding eye contact when he judged it to be friendly.

“I wouldn’t have pictured you in white.”

Dean moved up to Cas’s step, morphing his bashful glances into a direct smulder.

“Well why don’t you come by my place, sometime, and then you won’t have to.”

Cas gulped, and opened his mouth to provide an answer, which Dean seemed to be leaning in to try and taste, when a door opened into the stairwell, somewhere above them. Dean jolted back slightly, just enough to ruin the moment.

“Not in the face!” Dean put his hand up and flinched.

Cas blushed with shame, but grabbed Dean’s shoulders, pulling him close for a peck on the cheek.

“I solemnly swear I’ll never let a woman come between us ever again!” He released the taller man and began bounding up the stairs. Dean followed, skipping steps, and they both arrived at the mezzanine level just as Jess was trotting in from the floor above. Cas opened the door like a gentleman and Dean waved her forward.

She took one look at the flushed and somewhat out-of-breath men and shook her head.

“She’s right. She’s crazy. But she’s right.” Jess trudged through the door too lost in her disbelief to offer a ‘thank you’. Dean and Cas shared a quick what’s with her? before following behind.

…………………………………

“In case any of you were wondering, my performance went well.” Sam announced to the group, who had reconnected, and then fled the gala en masse in order to reconvene back at the Singer Hotel. They were milling about in a closed-off ballroom, and Gabriel had pitched a respectable tent using two bellhop carts and some white furniture covers. He then very disrespectfully began smoking a long pipe in said tent, moments after Bobby Singer had left them to their cavorting.

Jess stepped towards Sam with a guilty countenance and gently brushed his arm with her fingertips, until Dean stepped forward and raised his hand as if he were thinking of swatting away her consoling efforts.

“You’re Sam Winchester. Everyone knows you’re gonna do great. Don’t be such a baby.”

Jess glared at Dean in an attempt to silently let him know that calling Sam a baby would only make it worse. Dean wrinkled his nose at her.

“Yeah, that only works with this guy.” He jerked his thumb towards Cas, which snagged his attention.

What only works with me? Cas squinted.

The eye-talk thing. Dean blinked.

“Ah.” Cas accidentally answered out loud. 

Becky had been pulled into the smoke tent by Gabriel, but Jo was front and center, ready to validate Jess by staring a wide-eyed message across to her fellow blonde that read holy shit, the crazy bitch is right.

“Alright, alright.” Sam interrupted, peevishly. “We’re getting off track here. Why don’t we try using our words now? What’s the verdict on tonight? What’s the plan?”

“Well hopefully Cas’s friend Meg is getting out of town, because we riled that Lilith girl up real good.” Said Jo.

“Okay. And the point of that was to...?” Sam asked with an expectant dip of his head.

“Well, it was fun.” Dean answered, remembering the stiff woman shaking with rage.

“We are now 90% sure that she was hired by Luc Serpico.” Cas added in a more businesslike tone.

“It was also a bonding experience.” Jo piped up.

Sam gave Jess an exasperated look, and she answered with a cringe and a nod.

Suddenly Gabriel’s tent flapped open and Becky emerged from a haze of blue smoke, coughing and gasping, with tearing eyes.

“Gabriel, what kind of tobacco is that?” Cough. Hack. “Gee willikers.” Wheeze. She regained her composure, despite Cas leaning over to give her an inquisitive sniff. “Lilith won’t be able to sniff around the Board meetings anymore now that we’ve outed her. That’s a plus!”

“But we still don’t know if Bela Talbot hired Serpico, or if Serpico hired Bela Talbot. Or if the two have nothing to do with each other at all.” Cas’s serious voice was depressing everyone.

“And we have no idea why they’re trying to cook the books and attack Sam at the same time.” Dean added for good measure.

“Wow.” Jo mulled. “Everything’s coming up roses.”

“Well hey, at least Sam’s okay, right?” Dean clapped his taller brother on the shoulder. Cas pouted.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t tempt fate in that manner, and so late at night.” 

Gabriel wagged his pointer finger at Dean.

“Let’s just all stay here tonight. Do you think we can do that?” Sam gave Jo the puppy-dog face.

“Cots all around!” Jo shouted. “Follow me!”

………………………….

The next morning the responsible, working members of the Winchester posse (Becky and Jess) slipped out of the suite at the crack of dawn while everyone else slumbered on until Bobby used the master key on the door and entered, ringing a bell. 

“I was close to pulling the damn fire alarm. You can stay here anytime, for free, but that doesn’t mean it’s time to stock up on beauty rest."

“Thank you, Bobby.” Sam recited dutifully, while rubbing his eyes. His over-the-covers bedmate Gabriel reached out to sleepily steal Sam’s pillow and clutch it to his chest.

On the neighboring bed Cas and Dean were sleeping face-to-feet, resolutely ignoring anything short of an air raid siren.

“Uhg.” Bobby grunted in discontent. “Well I’m not sending up breakfast unless someone promises to tip Alfie.”

Gabriel pulled a dollar out of his pocket and threw it at Bobby, all while he was supposedly still fast asleep. Bobby frowned at him, snatched up the dollar and exited, ringing the bell as he left.

Later that morning when Sam tried to give Alfie his tip, the waiter told them not to worry because Bobby had already taken care of it.

………………………………………..

Chez Paree was a glitzy club, with lots of smooth, polished marble surfaces and hanging strings of twinkling lights. The stage area had many elaborate props which the stage hands rolled in and out so as to transform the set right before the audience's eyes.

Sam was rehearsing a set that had him singing on a stormy, pebbled beach, then in front of the Eiffel tower, then finally in a forest draped with Shakespearean magic. It was all a little much if you asked Dean.

Castiel, Dean and Gabriel were backstage watching the rehearsal with more interest directed towards teasing the dance company than keeping Sam in their sights. It didn't matter, as the real Chez Paree security looked like the we're carved from redwoods, but with far less good nature.

"Say, how do you walk on your toes like that?" Dean sidled up to a practicing fairy.

"It ain't hard." She sassed, with her hand on her hip. "See?" She hopped en pointe and kicked one leg up by her ear. Gabriel whistled as Dean cringed. "You wanna give it a try?"

"Ha. You wouldn't catch me dead in flats." Dean smirked as the dancer tittered, popping her chewing gum as she sauntered away. Castiel swiped Gabriel's hat so that he could tip it at her. Gabriel clutched at his skull, too late to prevent the theft, but just in time to stop a little white rabbit from scampering away. Sam's voice warbled over the din of production.

Just then Gabriel spotted something. He tugged on Castiel's sleeve, pointed and whistled.

"What is it, boy? What do you see?" Cas asked with the mock enthusiasm reserved for pets. Gabriel scowled and stuck out his bottom lip. He held up his pointer finger.

"One word." Dean supplied. Gabe nodded. He then shrugged, emphatically.

"You don't know." Cas tried. Gabe shook his head, no. He shrugged again.

"You're confused?" Dean sounded the same. Gabriel waved his hands, an emphatic no. He shrugged again, bending his arm at the elbow to point at his shoulder.

"You are shrugging." Cas narrated. Gabriel jumped for joy. He held up 2 fingers. Castiel squinted. "I know we're related, but it doesn't seem like we speak the same language."

"Two syllables?" Dean guessed. Gabriel nodded yes, then smashed down his second finger.

"Shrug. Just shrug." Cas caught on. Dean tapped his foot. Gabriel checked his pockets, until his face lit up. He pulled a stolen restroom sign from his seemingly bottomless interior breast pocket. He proceeded to crack the sign over his knee, breaking off the 'G' at the beginning of 'Gentlemen'. He chucked the letter over his shoulder. 

"No more 'g'." Dean sounded tired. Gabriel nodded yes and produced his handy dandy kazoo. He made a low buzzing and flew his finger around as if it were a fly.

"Fly in the ointment." Cas answered, utterly bored now. 

"Really?" Dean asked with a wrinkled nose of disdain at Castiel's forfeit. Cas shrugged. "Hey, now don't you start," Dean chided. "No 'g' and now you sound like a... 'Bee'! Shrub!"

Castiel had been lazily scanning the room as relief from the hassle of charades. His eyes narrowed on a stooped figure, swatted awkwardly behind a set decoration.

"We'll have to cut this short. I believe someone is watching us from behind that shrubbery." Castiel didn't notice the two death glares until Gabe slapped himself in the forehead.

"We were almost there, man." Dean voiced. Gabriel sent him a quick smile of appreciation. Cas was too busy striding towards a fake bush to notice.

Behind said shrubbery crouched a thin man with a fitted brown suit that really highlighted his clammy, grey skin. Castiel hoisted the man up by the scruff of his blazer.

"Who's this guy?" Dean mused.

"Search me. Who are you? Castiel asked with more deference than he'd shown in his initial heave-ho.

" I'm Chuck." Chuck answered, miserably.

"Hello, Chuck. I'm Castiel Flywheel, and this is my silent partner, Gabriel, and my more vociferous partner, Dean Winchester." Gabriel shook Chuck's hand, vigorously as Chuck shrugged off Cas's hand from the nape of his neck.

"I know who you are." Chuck whined.

"If that were true you would have ended that handshake 30 seconds ago." Gabriel kept shaking until Chuck pulled away with a grunt.

"Or just steered clear altogether." Dean added, with a hint of menace.

"Well I wanted to, believe you me. But your friend Charlie has some great connections. So here I am, begrudgingly, at your service."

He brushed some dust off of his knees.

"How do you know Charlie?" Dean asked with his eyes narrowed.

"More like how does Charlie know me. I'm a good guy to know. I'm a guy that knows things." Chuck tried to give them a menacing squint, but only Gabriel had the sense to look guilty. "It's a curse." He admitted, when no one else was impressed.

"Well what kind of shrubbery was that that you were hiding behind, because my lawn could use some sprucing up." Castiel stared into Chuck with no humor.

"You have a lawn?" Dean looked confused. "Hey, yeah," he turned back to Chuck. "Why were you hiding?

"I wasn't hiding behind the shrubbery, persay."

"Well I do say. You were clearly concealed behind this as of yet unidentified shrubbery." Cas fired back.

"Okay, maybe we can all just stop saying 'shrubbery'?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s a dappled willow." Chuck announced, haughtily. "Normally it would have shades of pink, white, and apple green, but technicolor is so expensive."

Everyone stared.

"I'm a guy that knows things." He explained. Dean reached forward and grabbed Chuck's lapels, hauling him closer and demonstrating how to truly and effectively menace.

"Why. Are. You. Here?" Dean punctuated his question with little regard for grade school grammar.

"I know what Serpico is planning on the day of the Winchester's closing sale." Chuck looked anywhere but into Dean's face, which was difficult as he was no more than a foot away. Dean held fast.

"What about Talbot?"

"Talbot sent the goons after Sam as a last-ditch effort to get Angel Brothers to lose interest. But her stunt didn't affect sales numbers, because the numbers are false."

"And why is that?" Castiel leaned in to question Dean's prisoner.

"Because Serpico's got three sets of books. Right now he's got investors looking at the high ones. At the sale closing he's gonna have a big reveal and try to pin in all on your brother Sam. Then he'll turn his set of...undercooked books over to the authorities and disappear with a small fortune and no one the wiser."

Dean released Chuck, his brow furrowed in displeasure.

"How do you know all this?" He demanded. Chuck flinched.

"I don't know. I just hear things. It's not like I asked for this! My blood pressure is through the roof! Even worse, Friday is a full moon. Everyone's gonna be nuts-o!"

Gabriel patted him on the shoulder. It didn't seem to make a difference to Chuck.

"Hey guys, who's this?" Sam's smooth voice made everyone jump. Castiel and Dean scowled, pride hurt once again due to a nearly seven foot tall man sneaking up on them.

"This is Chuck." Dean growled. "He's been catching us up on current events."

"He's apparently an expert when it comes to the effects of the full moon." Cas added.

"Oh." Sam answered, thoughtfully. “Well the full moon is Friday. I hope it brings good tide-ings. Eh? Get it?”

“Geez Louise.” Dean threw his hands up in the air. They landed back on his hips as he paced a small circle. Gabriel put his hands over his ears and shut his eyes, hard.

“Once again, as the straight and very tall man,” Castiel lectured, “you loom. You manage. You fund.” He listed tasks on his fingers. “You sing. You under no circumstances attempt comedy of any kind.”

“Well you can make an exception for physical.” Dean grumbled.

“Fine.” Cas didn’t miss a beat. “You are permitted to participate in a limited amount of comedic horseplay. Please ape responsibly.”

“Alright, I don’t get you guys at all. Do you want to hear what the big plan is, or not?” Chuck continued to do his best impression of a skittish horse.

“Gee I’m not sure. I do love a good surprise.” Dean answered through gritted teeth.

“Please, share with the class.” Chuck opened his mouth. Cas threw up a finger to ask for a pause. “Actually, let’s all huddle.”

The five men circled as Chuck murmured the gossip, feeling closer to his fellow humanity than he had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. The big finish is upon us. Also another 15,000 words of a Dean/Cas Big Bang. No matter. It's all up here. *points to head*  
> I've missed comments. Unfortunately you have to produce stuff to get them.


	12. That's an odd place for a bottle opener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I always need munchy food when I’m doing busy work. Do you girls want anything?” She turned to find Jo eyeing her snack with envy.
> 
> “I wouldn’t turn down a box Cracker Jack.” Jo offered. Gabriel patted his pockets, from his breasts to the back of his pants, to no avail.
> 
> “I actually didn’t eat lunch.” Jess intoned, nervously. “Do you think I could go grab a sandwich, maybe?”
> 
> Gabriel pulled out a little notepad and a pen, and stood next to Jess like an expectant waiter.
> 
> “I could get you a sandwich.” Sam offered, sheepishly.
> 
> “Jesus Christ, this bloody store.” Crowley muttered with disdain. “Fine. Set them up in the conference room. Get the girl a bloody sandwich!” Jo put her hands on her hips and pouted. “And some bloody Cracker Jack. But will everyone, please, get the hell out of my bloody office!"

After squeezing information out of Chuck like one might wring out a used dishrag, they deposited him with Charlie, and left detailed instructions on how to ensure they all never crossed paths again.  Charlie just laughed at them, and chased Gabriel away from the harp to make room for a jazz trio she already had scheduled.  Sam, Gabriel, Cas and Dean lingered on the sidewalk in front of The Royal Chambers, dishing about the new findings.

“Well yeah, he was annoying, but if all his information is accurate, that guy was worth his weight in gold bullion.”  Sam exclaimed, drowning out a grumble by Dean.

“Or just regular bullion, maybe.”  Dean sneered.

“Alright. We may be putting too much _stock_ into his story.”  Castiel kept his mouth serious, but expertly raised one eyebrow.

Not to be left out of a soup pun, Gabriel produced a ladle from an inside pocket, then promptly threw it over his shoulder.  The handle tipped off the shoulder of a passing newsboy, but Dean broadened his shoulders and rose to his full height, scaring the little squirt away before he could make a stink.

“Well it all fits.”  Sam continued, resolutely adhering to Cas’s no-puns-for-Sam policy. “I’m going to go get Crowley so that we can get the corrected sales numbers to the Angel Brothers by Saturday.”

“You think he’ll give you any flack?”  Dean asked, concern etched into his forehead.

“Don’t worry.  I can handle Crowley.  You guys better get everyone else on board and check-in at Winchesters.”  Sam turned to leave.

“Bring Gabriel!” Cas and Dean shouted together.

Gabriel batted his eyelashes at Sam, silently begging to be his partner in crime rather than a whistling third wheel.  Sam rolled his eyes, but gestured for Gabriel to follow.  Cas waved at them pleasantly while Dean shuffled in place, slightly more abashed.

“So, I guess we better scram.”  Dean murmured, his voice a little rougher than usual.

“Say, Dean, could you take me by my office?  I need to see a see a horse about my other suit.”  

“Sure, Cas.”  Dean answered with a smile.  “But if your horse doesn’t come through, you’ve got one more day to ransac Winchester’s while it’s still in the family.”

“Noted.”  Cas smiled and followed Dean to his car. "You'll have to tell me the color of your cumberbund so I can match my boutenierre."

"Oh I definitely will do that.  Sir?" Dean opened the passenger door for Cas.

_"Thank you!_ " Cas play acted a hoity toity tone.

_"Thank you!"_  Dean returned , putting on just as many airs, and crisply shutting the door.

……………….................................

 

Cas’s office was not the intimate getaway that Dean was expecting.  Firstly, the door was hanging on one hinge, which seemed unnecessary considering whatever goons had trashed the place had also smashed out the large picture windows.  Cas’s face fell when he saw the mess, but he quickly blinked his troubled expression away.

“I’m having a little work done.”  He stated with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  “I’ve heard you get what you pay for, but it looks like this job is going to come in under budget.  Lucky me.”

“Lilith.”  Dean seethed.  They pushed the door aside and stepped daintily through the clutter.  Dean leaned forward to right a wooden chair to discover it only had three legs.  He grabbed for it again as it teetered over, and tossed it aside.

“That’s an improvement.  Yesterday that chair only had two legs.  Anyway, it’s now much easier to find things,”  Cas sing-songed as he surveyed his meager belongings, scattered throughout the wreckage on the floor.  “And Stuffy had been complaining that it was a little Gabriel in here.”  A gentle breeze fluffed a pile of torn up papers.  Dean cocked his head to the side, replaying Cas’s final sentence with a confused look.

A crow startled both of them by cawing, alerting them to its perch on the back of Castiel’s desk chair.

“I have a pet, now.” Cas said, bemused.  “I shall call him Bartholomew.”

“I’m really sorry, Cas.”  Dean stepped over a pile of strewn about bedding to stand at Cas’s shoulder.

“It’s no matter.” Cas deflected.  “My linens were second rate.  Not unlike my detective work.”

Dean frowned, and reached out to envelop Cas in a compassionate hug.

“Attsa no-a way to talk, boss.”  He patted Cas on the back as Cas snaked his arms around Dean’s waist to accept and return the hug.

“What was that, an Italian accent?”  Cas asked as set his chin on Dean’s muscled shoulder.

“I think so.”  Dean groaned.

“Why?”  Cas nuzzled Dean’s neck for comfort.

“I have-a no idea.”  Dean rubbed circles into Cas’s shoulder blades.  “C’mon.  Let’s go tell the others.  Then we can get you everything you need at Winchester’s.  Gabriel can stay with his mother, right?”  Dean gently pulled away, hands still warm on Cas’s biceps.

“Yes.  Though I’m not sure there’s room for me there.”  Cas stated, desperately trying not to sound pitiful.

“That’s alright.  You can come to my place.”  Dean replied, simply.

“Well that’s exceedingly kind.” Cas’s eyes shone with grateful pleasure.  “But where will you go?”  Dean dropped his hands away from their pleasant grip on Cas’s arms.

“Why, you…”Dean narrowed his eyes and pulled back his shoulder, making a low fist.

“Not in the face!”  Cas cried out with a grin.

“Hey now, that’s my line.”  Dean reached up to ruffle Cas’s hair.  Cas ducked away from his outstretched hand with a smirk.

“Hey-a now.  Attsa my line!”  He parroted, in his own cheesy Italian accent.  Dean simply rolled his eyes and followed Cas carefully through the mess and back to the car.  

Bartholomew found a piece of black licorice, and made itself at home.

……………………………..

“Bollocks!  Bollocks!  Bollocks!”  Crowley pounded his desk with his fist, which made his smouldering cigar jump in its ashtray.  Across from him, Sam Winchester rubbed his forehead and sighed a sigh of supreme fatigue.  Gabriel stood to Sam’s right, arms crossed over his chest, alternating between glaring at Crowley, and giving Sam a doe-eyed look of concern.

“I’m not happy about it either, but we have to work together to produce an accurate sales record before Saturday, or the whole thing will have to be called off.  Even worse, some of us could end up in jail.”  Sam stated, wearily.

“Where am I going to find the kind of reliable manpower needed to pull this off?!”  Crowley roared.

“You’re not.”  A new voice piped up from the doorway, and everyone turned their heads in surprise.  “Because it’s going to take woman-power.”  Becky continued, striking and holding a statuesque pose for a moment, before leading Jess and Jo into the office.  “And a whole lot of peanuts.”  She finished.  Sam looked over at Jess, adoringly.  Gabriel produced a large bag of peanuts from his left sleeve.  Crowley smacked his cheek, lightly, and dragged his hands down the length of his face in thankfully silent exasperation.

“Oh thank you!”  Becky accepted Gabriel’s nuts. “I always need munchy food when I’m doing busy work.  Do you girls want anything?”  She turned to find Jo eyeing her snack with envy.

“I wouldn’t turn down a box Cracker Jack.”  Jo offered.  Gabriel patted his pockets, from his breasts to the back of his pants, to no avail.

“I actually didn’t eat lunch.”  Jess intoned, nervously.  “Do you think I could go grab a sandwich, maybe?”

Gabriel pulled out a little notepad and a pen, and stood next to Jess like an expectant waiter.

“I could get you a sandwich.” Sam offered, sheepishly.

“Jesus Christ, this bloody store.”  Crowley muttered with disdain.  “Fine.  Set them up in the conference room.  Get the girl a bloody sandwich!”  Jo put her hands on her hips and pouted. “And some bloody Cracker Jack.  But will everyone, please, get the hell out of my bloody office!"

Luckily, Crowley’s blustery temper did not do much to quell the girl’s good moods, and determination.  They sauntered into the conference room with Sam and Gabriel ready at their heels and Becky in the front, laying out ledgers and outlining their tasks for the next 24 hours.  If the sale of the store was going to be salvaged, it was up to them.

………………..

A few floors down, and an hour or two later, Cas and Dean tore up the menswear section of Winchester’s like two trophy wives on holiday.  Dean offered his tab, but Cas demanded that they put it all on Crowley’s.  Dean conceded, but they had to let the shopgirl go off and pick out a new dress to wear to the big sale gala before she’d go along with their tab-stealing shenanigans.  Dean made a move to follow her, but Cas reeled him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon Cinderella.  We’ll worry about that ball another time.”

“What, you’re my fairy godmother now?”  Dean shot back, acting offended.

“I’m your fairy something, alright.”  Cas retorted, as he led them out of the store to fill Dean’s Chevy with their new suitory.

Dean then idled in the car while Cas rode up to the executive floor to let Gabriel know what had happened to their little slice of heaven.  Sam offered his condolences, and Gabriel simply produced a bed pillow from under Crowley’s desk and communicated that he could sleep anywhere.  Cas exited before he could get emotional about his cousin’s upbeat outlook on life.

Back in the car, Dean drove them through the town with his usual practiced ease, enjoying the silence for a while before he cleared his throat.

“You don’t think they’ll find Meg, do you?”

“If Meg doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.  And if she does, it’s because she’s feeling… violent.  So for their sake I hope she stays underground.”  Cas said with uncharacteristic seriousness. Dean shivered in his seat at the thought of an armed-and-dangerous Meg, then officially gave himself permission to not worry on her behalf any longer.

“So, everything you have was in your office?”  Dean asked with a twerked lip that was cautiously hoping he was incorrect.  

“‘Fraid so.”  Cas answered with a sigh.

“Nuts."  Dean stared at the road. Cas looked out the passenger side window, folded into himself and resting his chin on his palm.

He was startled out of his reverie when Dean threw on the parking brake and hopped out of his seat to run around the back of the vehicle and open a garage door. Cas watched with interest as the inner workings of Dean's business were suddenly on display. It was all orderly rows of well worn tools, chains and cables. Cas had been holding his breath, readying himself for another home in shambles. But all was right at John's Garage.

"Say, have you been lying to me this whole time?" Cas glared at Dean when the younger man hopped back into the car and backed it into the open work bay.

"Huh?" Dean asked, while looking over his shoulder. "I told you I lived above my shop."

"Your name is John?"

"John was my dad. But I sure as hell wasn't gonna call it 'Dean's'. Or Winchester's, for that matter."  Dean threw it in park and cut off the engine. Cas just stared on, expectantly.  "Dean Winchester has...dabbled in some stuff that your everyday Joe wouldn't necessarily approve of. I thought you knew that." He eyed Cas with a calculating pout, as if he were reconsidering his offer of lodging.

"I'd gathered." Cas coughed.

"Well I prefer pleats over gathers. " Dean smirked.

"Well then, my Dean Winchester dossier is com-pleat.  No more gathering necessary." Cas gave Dean a toothy grin.

"Jesus, you’re even crazier than I am. Come on up." Dean swung his door open and exited into the garage. Cas followed and was led up a narrow wooden staircase, through a similarly narrow door and into an economy-sized kitchen.

“Maybe the goons who trashed my place simply couldn’t fit up here.”  Cas mused, observing the refrigerator, kitchen table, living room sofa, easy chair, and master bed all without having to turn his head.

“Hey now, that’s uncalled for.”  Dean scrunched his face.  “And unlikely, considering Sammy used to live here.”

Cas surveyed the rest of Dean’s belongings by turning his head no more than 45 degrees.  He offered a low whistle.  It was tasteful, and brighter than he would have guessed.  Everything looked comfortably worn, and in order.

“It’s very nice.”  Cas offered, gravely.

“Make yourself at home.  I gotta call Sam and let him know everything’s good here.”

Dean sidled up to the phone on the his kitchen wall, and dialed up his brother.  Castiel took off his trench coat and hung it on a hook by the door.  He gave the apartment one more appraising glance before heading to the refrigerator.  He opened the door and poked his head in to find a cold beer, and he was not disappointed.  He grabbed two, then clicked the door shut with his heel, and headed over to the counter to begin rummaging around for a bottle opener.

“Top drawer.”  Dean tilted his head to point with his chin.

“ _Top drawer, already?  I knew it.  I knew you liked him._ ”  Sam’s voice was tinny, but gleeful.

“We’re in the kitchen, not my dresser.” Dean hissed into the receiver.

“What’s that?  Your dresser?”  Cas asked, looking up from his search with an expression of blank curiosity.

“No, not my- not you.”  Dean blushed and gestured at the phone, then rotated away from Cas, hunching his back in defense.  “You’re an idiot,”  he griped at his brother.

_“No I’m not.  I’m right.  And you know what?  I don’t even care.  I’m happy for you_.”   Sam’s tone wasn’t teasing anymore, but Dean was distracted by Cas seemingly abandoning his efforts to open their beers.

“It seems like an odd place to keep a bottle opener.”  He muttered as he exited the kitchen, and entered the living room in all of four strides.

“ _Dean?  Are you still there?_ ” Sam prompted.

“I’m here. I’m here.  Now don’t get all sappy on me Samantha.”  He rolled his eyes at the phone but they landed on the heels of his houseguest.  “Cas, where are you -”

“- _because I’ve never seen you act quite like this, so I knew there had to be something different about this time_.”  Sammy continued.  Two more strides and Cas was crossing the threshold of Dean’s bedroom.

“Hey!  Hey, wait a minute.”  Dean called out, as the reality of the situation dawned on him.

“ _What?  Wait, are you talking to me?_ ” Sam sounded hurt that his speech was interrupted.

“Are you talking to me?”   Cas called over his shoulder, the picture of innocence as he paused his stroll around Dean’s bed on his way to the tall oak dresser.

“No, not you!” Dean hissed at the phone.

“Okay, then, sorry to interrupt!” Cas called back, in response to Dean’s message for Sam.  “Top drawer… top drawer.”  He raised his hands to the smooth oak knobs of Dean’s dresser’s top drawer.

“Christ on a cracker.” Dean ran his hand through his hair, trying to remember why he was still standing in the kitchen while Cas was about to pry into his personals without so much as a drop of alcohol yet in his bloodstream.  “Sam, I gotta call you back.”

“ _You know what, Dean?_  Don’t bother.  Just enjoy your night, okay?  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

Dean hung up on the “ow” in “tomorrow” and leaped from one room to the next, expertly avoiding his end tables and knicknacks without affording his footing a second glance.  He reached Cas’s side just as the drawer was opened a centimeter, its contents still safely ensconced in darkness.

“Were you talking to me?”  Cas asked, hands frozen in place.

“No.” Dean answered, a bit breathless.  Cas looked around the room- Dean’s bedroom- a simple space with nothing but a few cherished mementos tucked into the corners of the mirror.  He looked back at Dean, whose cheeks were pink, his lips parted slightly as he calmed his breathing.  “Open it.” Dean prompted, suddenly.

“Are you sure?” Cas couldn’t suppress the beginning of a smirk.

“No. Just do it, already.”  Dean’s eyes twinkled with an exhilarating mix of fear and excitement, with a dash of crazy.

Cas pulled the drawer open reverently, and looked it over from left to right and top to bottom, as if he were carefully reading a legal contract.  He was greeted first with nude colored lace.  Then it was lace and satin in pale pink and mint green.  There was white cotton, so thin it was almost sheer and a river of navy blue silk that looked heavenly.  Cas breathed out a slow breath as he wished on every star shooting through space that Dean had a drawer full of negligees for the same reason Cas wanted him to.  He chanced a glance up to Dean’s face.  Dean licked his lips, but appeared to be holding his breath.

Dean's heart sped up with the knowledge that playfully gathering juicy tidbits about his proclivities and actually discovering proof of them in the privacy of his budoir were two somewhat different animals. Whatever happened next, it would have to be Cas's move. And what was Cas into anyway? Gays? Cross-dressers? Or did he just get a rush uncovering dirty secrets?

_A little of each, I suppose. So far, if Dean Winchester does it, I seem to like it._  Cas answered with an appraising up and down gaze. Dean blushed at letting his thoughts be overheard. This guy was dangerous (not that that was a turn-off in any way).

Cas reached his right hand over the edge of the drawer and slid it deep into the silken treasures, all without breaking eye contact with Dean.  They stared at each other as Cas reveled in the luxury of the smooth fabrics.  Then, with a flick of his wrist and his smooth sleight of hand, he (begrudgingly) removed his hand from the garments and held up the bottle opener that he had swiped from Dean’s kitchen drawer.

“Here it is. Just like you said.”  He finally allowed himself to smile, almost maniacally.  “Now who’s thirsty?”

“You- but I-”  Dean looked into his drawer with a puzzled expression before the true nature of Cas’s charade dawned on him.  He met Cas’s gaze once again, shaking his head in silent, embarrassed laughter.  “Why, I oughta…”  He bit his lip, and put his hands on his hips after aborting the idea of mock shadowboxing.

“Oughta what?”  Cas asked, tossing the bottle opener aside and spreading his arms as if a hug might possibly be on the table.  “I suppose you do owe me a good sock in the jaw.  It’s only fair.”  He stiffened a little and closed his eyes.

“Take your shoes off.”  Dean crowded into Cas’s space, pushing him back towards the bed in a playful manner, that was outed for it’s true intent when he began nuzzling the skin under Cas’s ear.  “We can’t wreck my bed.  I like my bed.”  

Cas obediently pried off his shoes, while shuffling backwards, being groped, and also letting his own hands roam freely about the torso of his host.  They fell onto the bed with a huff of quiet laughter and feigned discomfort.

“You’re crushing my ribs.  That’s no way to treat your bodyguard.”  Cas nimbly unbuttoned Dean’s shirt.

“Some bodyguard.  Last time we were this close you knocked me in the jaw.”  Dean held himself up on his hands, and tongued his cheek at the memory.

“That’s my secret to preventing attacks on your person.  I beat everyone else to the punch.”  Cas reached into Dean’s open shirt and tickled his taught stomach.

“Well that’s a shitty secret.  If I were my aunt, I wouldn’t pay you.”  Dean swooped forward and bit Cas’s neck, playfully.

“If you were your aunt, your top drawer would make a lot more sense.”  Cas cringed at the bite, but Dean drew back to search his expression for possible reservations.  “But would be exponentially less exciting, I might add, for good measure.”

“Phuh.”  Dean took his green eyes on one more trip deep into Cas’s blues before diving back into the tasting of his torso and neck.  “I’ll measure you good,” he mumbled into Cas’s skin, “or something.”  Cas wriggled and writhed, multi-tasking by peeling his socks off and letting them begin what would officially be his pile of clothes.

"So about that top drawer..." Cas huffed, as more and more of their masculine wardrobe gathered on the floor.

Dean just laughed.

While the rest of the particulars of the ensuing encounter are woefully absent from our tale (we wouldn't want to offend the delicate sensibilities of some any of our gentleman readers), it is suffice to say that Dean’s top drawer was stocked as such for all the reasons Cas had hoped, and a few more that he hadn’t dared dream of.


	13. To new roommates!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, Sam doesn't die.

 

The following morning was Saturday- the big day- the day of the Winchester’s sale.  The store was closing to the public at 12:00pm and being transformed into a banquet hall for yet another wasteful gala, though this one was less formal, as it was taking place in the afternoon.  All the local press were invited to attend, and Crowley assured them they would all get a chance to snap a photo of Sam Winchester as he signed away his shares of the store.  Consequently, Sam was once again scheduled to sing for everyone, and this time had managed to get Gabriel into the act as his harpist.  

 

They all showed up in the Winchester’s lobby at 11:00am, sharp, pressed and dressed to impress, ready to execute their plan.

 

“What is the name of our plan?” Asked Jo as she corrected the angle of her very slick white hat in a jewelry counter mirror.  Gabriel opened his mouth as if to answer, then looked confused and closed it again.

 

“I suppose it’s missing.”  Cas voiced as he tried on various ties as if he were in a dressing room and not in the middle of the sales floor.  He looked dapper in his new navy blue suit, and Dean was struggling to stop himself from looping a sky blue silk tie around the man's neck and ending the tortuous mini fashion show.

 

“What’s missing?  Jess asked from behind the jewelry counter, where she had opted to finish out the remainder of her shift.

 

“The name of our plan.” Said Jo.

 

“How about ‘Let’s Not Get Sammy Maimed or Killed.’?”  Dean offered, as he peeked in the side of Cas’s mirror and smoothed down a few errant strands of his hair with a spit-slicked finger. Cas somehow tied two ties together in a fit of distraction.

 

“It’s just ‘Sam’.”  Sam grumbled from behind a newspaper that he was managing to read while leaning one elbow on the counter

 

Gabriel shook his head “no” and pulled a long, flowing women’s wig out of his coat, then sheared off the main length with a pair of scissors.

 

“Too long.” Cas voiced, without looking away from his own reflection.  Dean peered Cas through the mirror with poorly concealed admiration.

 

“How about ‘The Big Sale’?”  Jess offered as she came from behind the counter to sweep up Gabriel’s wig cutting mess.

 

“Not bad.”  Jo said, simply.  Jess shrugged, and trotted off to find a trash can.

 

“It’s perfect.”  Sam gushed.

 

Jo and Dean both rolled their eyes at Sam. Jess just smiled to herself.

 

"Blech." A new voice came sauntering in, attached to none other than the elusive Meg. "It's like they're vying for your title of Most Sickeningly In Love." Meg sneered at Sam.

 

"Whose title?" Cas and Dean asked in unison.  Everyone simply looked at them. Dean fidgeted. Cas changed the subject.

 

“Well look who else the cat dragged in.”  Cas rolled his hand into a deep bow in front of a flustered and clomping Becky.

 

“Can’t talk now, guys!  Crowley just found a litter of Scottish Terrier puppies in his filing cabinet, and he’s on the warpath!”

 

Gabriel began to dance around a display of ladies hats, in a way that was supposed to be reminiscent of a generic Native American celebration.

 

“Well I guess that’s our cue.”  Cas licked his hand and ran it through his artfully frazzled hair.

 

“It’s as good a cue as any.”  Dean muttered, dusting off his shoulders as his eyes darted around to keep an eye out for storming store managers.  With none in sight, he stepped over to Cas and reached out to give a short tug to the man’s sleeve.  “I’m off to the closet to find a deadly camera.  C’mon, Jo.”

 

Cas tilted his head and smiled almost imperceptibly.

 

“Fare thee well.”  He answered, catching Dean’s sleeve as he pulled away, and tugging in return.

 

“Thank you!”  Dean answered in a hoity toity manner.

 

“Thank YOU!”  Cas replied in kind.

 

“Um. Bye.” Jo added, in an effort not to be entirely forgotten.

 

Sam leaned over the jewelry counter to give Jess a quick peck on the cheek before hurrying off to prepare for his performance.  Cas and Meg took each of Becky’s arms and calmly led her to a back room where they had preparations of their own to attend to.  This left Gabriel standing serenely next to a mannequin, not moving a muscle, with a silly expression on his face, when Crowley approached.

 

“Where is he?!”  He demanded of Jess, with a red face.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Crowley.  Who are you looking for?”  Jess answered, not fully convinced that Crowley could be trusted 100% with the day’s agenda.

 

“Don’t play dumb with me!”  Crowley bellowed.  “The miscreant who turned my office into a bloody kennel.”

 

Gabriel’s eyes widened, but the expression on his face didn’t change, and he remained still.

 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir.”  Jess answered, with almost legitimate innocence.

 

“Listen, missy.  Nothing would bring me more pleasure than to fire you on the spot.”  Crowley seethed, brandishing his finger like a weapon.

 

However, Gabriel did not like the menacing actions towards Jess at all.  He leaped from his pose and brought the rubber balloon on the top of his trusty walking stick down on Crowley’s head.  The air was pierced with a duck-like “honk”.  Crowley sputtered.  Jess tried very hard not to laugh.  Gabriel went running full-tilt towards the neighboring department, which happened to be ladies hosiery.  Crowley followed in hot pursuit.  Jess looked on, thoughtfully.  Surprisingly, everything was going as planned.

 

………………………………………..

 

At the other end of the store, Jo stood at the coat check counter, collecting people’s personal items and exchanging them for tickets.  Dean lounged out of sight on a stool behind her, officially just looking for a camera containing a gun, but unofficially checking everyone’s pockets for candy.  Jo caught him in the act as she turned around during a lull.  She sighed and shook her head, then extended her hand in a silent request for sweets.

 

“So what if the guy doesn’t check his camera?” She mumbled around a piece of saltwater taffy.

 

“That’s not an option.”  Dean furrowed his brows as he worked a melting butterscotch out of his cheek.  “Be aggressive.”

 

Jo saluted and turned back to face the public, furiously working the taffy out of her teeth so that she could focus on the incoming horde.  If Chuck's info could be trusted, there was a bad man coming with a dummy camera that he was ready to point at Sam Winchester.

 

…………………………………………..

 

“Alright.”  Cas started.  He had Meg and Becky facing him on the landing of a stairwell that was for staff use only.  His low growl bounced around the concrete like a line of marbles.  “We need to figure out where Luc Serpico is hiding so that we can pounce on him when the time is right.”

 

“When is the time right?”  Becky asked, clutching her purse to her ribs.

 

“Well, preferably before he realizes we’ve foiled Sam’s assassination and tries to hightail it out of here.”

 

“Well that is NOT going to happen.”  Meg spat, somehow managing to pace in a two-foot square area.  “His goons ruined some of my best furs.  He messed with the bear.  Now he gets the claws.”  She bared her teeth and clenched her hands into fists.

 

“Good.  Becky, do you have any reservations about holding a man at gunpoint?”  Cas pointed at Becky.

 

“Well, gee, it usually works better if you don’t call ahead.”  Becky quipped with sincerity.

 

Cas blinked twice.  He scratched his left ear.  He cleared his throat.  Meg smirked at him.

 

“I know, I know.”  Becky cut into his deliberate silence.  “You’re not the straight man.  That was the last time, okay?  No more jokes from me.”  She sounded as exasperated as Sam usually looked after a good chiding. “Cross my heart.”  She drew and ‘x’ over the offending organ.

 

“Well I’m glad you’ve gotten that out of your system.  Let’s get to our stations.”

 

“Wait, first show me what you’re packin’.”  Meg eyed Becky’s purse with interest.  Becky perked up.

 

…………………………………………….

 

Gabriel splashed through the fountain in front of the camping supply section with Crowley hot on his tail.  Crowley narrowly avoided falling into the fountain, but did not discontinue his chase.  Gabriel sped on, undeterred, and managed to slide a potted plant directly into Crowley’s path.  Crowley stepped right into it, and yowled, tripping into table full of cutlery and narrowly avoiding getting his other foot skewered by a falling hunter's knife.  Gabriel paused to whistle and wave “goodbye.”

 

…………………………………………..

 

“Sir, if you could please check your camera, we’d appreciate it.”  Jo said to an ugly man in a gray overcoat.

 

“I’d prefer not to.”  The man slid out of his coat, but kept his camera hanging around his neck.

 

“Nonsense.”  Jo argued with her silkiest voice as she pulled the coat over the counter and handed it to Dean for hanging.  “We wouldn’t want you to miss out on all the festivities because you’ve got that heavy thing around your neck.  I assure you, we’ll take good care of it.”

 

“No, that won’t be necessary.”  The man said, pulling his camera away from Jo’s welcoming hands.

 

“But -”  Jo panicked, then steeled herself for a confrontation.  “I’m terribly sorry, but I must insist, for the comfort of the other guests, we can’t just have you flashing your camera all over, willy nilly.  We’ve checked all the other reporter’s cameras.  You can access it when it’s time for the official signing.”  She ended a triumphant note.  Dean mouthed the words “willy nilly” behind her, with a question mark at the end.

 

“Look, girlie, I know your racket.  You’re just looking for a bigger tip.  Well you won’t be getting one from me!”  The ugly man glared at Jo.  Jo glared back.  Behind her, Dean rose to his full height, suddenly very visible behind the coat check counter.

 

“Now you listen here, buddy.  You’re going to hand your camera over to the girl and you’re going to get a ticket, and if I have to hear one more word about it I’m going to come over this counter and introduce my fist to your face.  Capice?”  Dean squinted at the man, while tonguing one of his upper molars.  

 

The ugly man acquiesced, with some hesitance, and finally handed his precious camera to Jo.  she handed him a ticket with a fake smile.

 

“See?  Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She asked, rhetorically.

 

Gabriel ran by, honking and waving, trailing a large green vine around one foot.  Dean, Jo, and the ugly man all watched with rapt attention, until he was out of site.

 

“I think I’d like to see your manager.”  The man snarled, turning his attention back to the counter.

 

“Oh good.  I think you’re about to.”  Dean answered with a smirk.  “Don’t blink.”

 

As if on cue, Crowley barreled by, leaving a trail of potting soil behind his left foot, and waving  gala attendees out of the way as if his brakes had been cut.  The ugly man had to jump out of his way to avoid being trampled.

 

Jo made no effort to suppress her laughter.

 

……………………………………………..

 

“Me me me me meeeee.  Doe, ray, meeee.  My dog has fleeeeeas.”  Sam cleared his throat and worked on vocal exercises in his makeshift dressing room.  He peered in the mirror, not quite able to get his tie straight.  

 

Gabriel emerged from what Sam thought was a closet, applauding, with a big smile.

 

“Thanks, Gabe.”  Sam laughed.  “Everything going alright?”

 

Gabriel nodded enthusiastically, even as the sounds of Crowley crashing through yet another display came lilting through the door.  Gabriel pointed at Sam with a questioning expression.

 

“Me?  Oh I’m a little nervous, I guess.  I mean, I know Dean and Jo will take care of the gun in the camera, and Cas and Becky will get Luc Serpico, but that doesn’t mean someone other thug won’t just try to shoot me outright.”  Sam gulped, and loosened his nearly-straight tie.  

 

Gabriel cringed and pushed his hands over his ears as if he didn’t want to hear it.  Sam laughed again, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

 

“Hey, it’s okay.  Just make sure to tell Jess that I love her if anything happens.”  He turned towards his mirror to surreptitiously wipe a drop of moisture from under his eye with his knuckle.  Gabriel nearly swooned at the sentiment.  He pulled a floppy hat out of his coat and fanned his heart with it.

 

“GABRIEL!” Crowley’s voice came through the door with striking force.  Gabriel’s eyes went wide, and he hopped into Sam’s wardrobe slamming the door shut in the nick of time.   Crowley let himself into the room, visibly vibrating and positively radiating rage.

 

“Where is he, Sam?  You can’t be fool enough to go along with all of this malarkey.  Give him over!”

 

“Who, Gabriel?”  Sam stalled for time.  “He’s part of the performance tonight.  What did he do?”  Crowley scowled as he thought he recognized the same picture-of-innocence expression on Jess just minutes earlier.

 

“He left a litter of newborn bloody puppies in my filing cabinet, that’s what!  I am the boss!  He can make Zachariah run around like a moron all day, for all I care, but I’ll not have him harassing me like I’m some kind of buffoon!”

 

“It’s alright, Crowley.  No one thinks that.” Sam assured him.

 

“Thinks what!?”  Crowley yelled back.

 

“That you’re a buffoon.”  Sam answered, calmly.

 

“Of course they don’t think that!”  He shook his hands in the air to emphasize the point.

 

“But maybe you should try not to run through the store, screaming.”  Sam suggested.  Crowley put his hands down and bit his lip, mentally reviewing the scenes he had just created, accross the store.

 

“Did you say you had newborn puppies in your cabinet?”  Sam prodded, gently.

 

“Well they’re in a basket now.”  Crowley admitted.

 

“If they’re really that young, they’re going to need some milk or something.”  Sam began to wring his hands in exaggerated concern for the puppies.

 

“Drat.  I’ll need to warm it.  And get one of those little bottles.  There’s five of the little bastards.”  Crowley slapped his forehead and attempted to rub out a tension headache.  “It’ll take an hour just to feed them all.”  He sighed.  “I know you did this on purpose.”  His anger flared for a moment.  “Whatever you’re distracting me from, it had better work.  And by work, I mean it had better make me a boatload of bloody money!”  Crowley ended at full volume once again, and stormed out of Sam’s dressing room with a huff.  

 

Sam enjoyed the mental image of Crowley bottle-feeding five tiny puppies, before he snapped back to the present and stepped forward to free Gabriel from his wardrobe.  Gabriel fell out of the wardrobe door dressed as a gondolier.

…………………………………………….

 

“Well I’ve never heard of someone confiscating a camera at a press-centered event!”  A reedy young man with greasy hair and no overcoat was arguing with Jo.  Dean rolled his eyes.  So far all of the camera-check protesters had been cleared of suspicion, and he and Jo were learning that their brilliant plan was not without its flaws.

 

“Look, Bozo.  I got one simple job to do.  I take coats, hats, and anything that might impede your enjoyment of the fine food and beverages we’re about to serve you.  Hand over the goddamned camera.”  Jo’s patience had worn thin, and she was discovering she was a fan of the direct approach.

 

“The man balked for a moment, but Jo’s bored indifference did nothing to bolster his confidence.  Eventually he pulled the camera strap over his head and handed it gingerly over the counter.

 

“Please, take good care of her.”  He implored.

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Jo answered, practically dropping the camera into Dean’s waiting lap.  

 

Dean waited until the man had wandered out of sight before diving into the newest camera.  Like all the others, it just had film on the inside.  Film that was now ruined by being exposed to the coat closet light.  Dean plunked the latest camera down on the shelf.

 

"I think it's safe to say that we were wrong in assuming a murderous criminal would simply hand us his weapon." Jo put her hands on her hips and bit her cheek.

 

"Yeah, I'd say you're right." Dean sighed, as he began to grow increasingly anxious. "We may have to get Sam out of- oh dear Lord."

 

Jo whipped her head around too slowly to catch the target of Dean’s attention. On the other side of the entryway, two entertainers slipped through the guests. Despite their stealth, their costumes made them rather conspicuous. As if that weren't enough, one of them had a large camera strapped around his neck as if he were some sort of wacky reporter.

 

“Well that’s irony for you.”  Dean muttered.

 

“What?  Where?  Why?”  Jo craned her neck to find the target of Dean’s gaze.  She soon located two of the most shifty looking clowns in existence, edging their way around the guests and towards the area blocked off and designated for staff only.

 

“Doesn’t Sam-?”

 

“Hate clowns?”  Dean finished.  “Yes.  Yes he does.”  Dean rubbed his chin.

 

“Well honestly, who likes clowns?”  She pondered.  “They’re creepy as all get out.”

 

“That they are.”  Dean watched like a hawk as the camera toting clown tested a side door to see if it was unlocked.  

 

A patron held his overcoat over the counter for Jo, without announcing himself.  Jo pushed his arm aside so that he wouldn’t block her view of the suspects.  

 

“We’re full-up, buddy.  Hang it on the back of your chair.”  Dean barked, when the man had the audacity to look as if he were going to complain.  The man’s wife gasped and tittered in annoyance.  Dean ignored them and turned to Jo.  “Let’s scram.  There’s a gun in that camera with a bullet meant for Sammy.”

 

“Yee-haw!”  Jo lurched forward to vault the counter, but Dean caught her arm at the last second and stared her down, forcing her to walk around it like a lady.  She scowled, and tried to free herself from his persistent grip.

 

“Hey, Jo.  You be careful, okay.  I’m pretty sure there’s more than one bullet in that gun.”

 

“Aye-aye, Captain.”  She saluted him, saucily.   Dean just rolled his eyes.

 

“Alright get outta here and find Cas.  I’ll tail the funny guys.”

 

……………………………………

 

Jo ran into Becky at yet another chocolate fountain, and let her know that their main suspects were a camera-toting pair of clowns.  Becky cringed, and tossed her little plate of glazed fruit in the trash as her appetite abandoned her.

 

Cas ran into Becky near the ladies room, and was apprised of the newest developments.  He nodded gravely and strode off to locate Meg on the second floor, which was only open around the stairs, like a sort of elaborate balcony.

 

Dean used a shortcut to circumvent the crooks and get himself to Sam (and now Gabriel’s) dressing room to let them know what to look out for.  Sam didn’t take the news about being stalked by two clowns very well.  

 

“You’re absolutely sure?”  He questioned with a somewhat pathetic pout.

 

“Look, we got our hands on every other camera in the place.  It’s just too much of a coincidence.  Hell, you’re in charge of the entertainment.  Did you hire some clowns without telling me?”  

 

Gabriel honked his cane, and waved at Dean, still dressed as a gondolier.  Dean waved back, but only enough to be polite.

 

Sam shook his head, “no” while gazing forlornly at the floor.

 

“Well there you go, then.  You got some anyway.  But don’t you worry.  I’m gonna take ‘em out.”  Dean reached back to brush his hand against the gun in the small of his back, and he felt a little better.

 

In the distance they heard a smattering of applause, and then Gabriel’s brief introduction.  He ducked out of the dressing room to run to the stage and play his harp.  

 

“Well.”  Dean coughed, easily drowning out the first glissando.  “You see a clown, you have my permission to duck and cover. No questions asked. No jokes made."

 

“Thanks, Dean.”  Sam answered, flatly.  “Real nice.”  He reached out and patted his older brother on the shoulder.  “You be careful out there.  And watch out for Cas too.  You two are … a little crazy.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.  Says you.”  Dean shrugged away Sam’s hand and blushed.  “Break a leg out there.  Sounds like Gabe’s getting them nice and warm for ya.”

 

“Be safe, Dean.”

 

With one more brotherly pat, Dean excused himself, intent on locating and eradicating the invading clown posse.

 

………………………………………

 

With heads poking through side doors and necks craning to see over the crowd of elite mooches, it was Meg and Jo who finally located the suspects.

 

“Well, well, well.  It seems I’ve stumbled upon a couple of clowns in the wrong place at the right time.”  Meg nearly slurred in her unbridled delight at having happened upon the two men, holed up in an employee break room just off the corridor leading to the mezzanine, where Sam had just begun to sing.  

 

"Ugh. They're even worse up close." Jo complained as she squeezed into the room behind Meg.

 

“Oh contrare. We seemed to have attracted two pesky little broads. Lilith will be very pleased.  What do you think, Alistair?  Should we cut out their saucy tongues?  My makeup could use a touch-up. Some fresh red paint would be nice." The shorter clown sneered, not at all affected by Meg’s entrance.  His expression didn’t waver when Becky slid in behind Jo.

 

“I don’t think that would be advisable.”  Becky glared at Alistair, the taller clown with the camera slung awkwardly around his neck.  Becky’s right hand was buried in her purse for a reason only Meg and Jo were aware of.

 

“Now there’s three of them, boss.  How thick you think these walls are?”  Alistair’s voice slid out of his throat like crude oil, and Becky wrinkled her nose.

 

"Well I could never resist a crowd,”  Cas sidestepped through the door, “let’s make it four.”  He held one hand in his pocket, and flinched slightly when Alistair turned the camera on him in surprise.

 

“How about we give 'em five.”  Dean stepped in behind Cas, nudging him with his shoulder.

 

 Cas winked with the eye facing Dean.  

 

“Start with loverboy.”  The shorter clown ordered.

 

“Which one?” Alistair joked, as he pointed his camera squarely at Dean.  Cas steeled his features into iron calm.

 

“Dean.  Good choice.  Then after we get rid of Sam there will be no more Winchesters to meddle in our plans.”  The clown grinned against the exaggerated frown line of his makeup.

 

“You do realize you’re talking about killing an entire room full of people, right?”  Meg asked, finally dropping her sultry demeanor in favor of skeptical condescension.

 

“Yes, but I actually have the guts to shoot all five of you and watch you bleed out right here.”  The taller greasy clown oozed. "You yucksters wouldn't know what to do with a gun if it-"

 

“Oh my goodness will you just SHUT UP!”  Becky punctuated her request by pulling out her firearm and shooting the tall clown in the right shoulder.  The shot knocked him back over a narrow lunch table and his camera/firearm was tossed aside.  Everyone winced when it landed, before turning their attention to Becky and her smoking pistol.

 

“You shot him!”  Cas exclaimed.

 

“Nice going.”  Meg cheered.

 

“Yes, I did.”  Becky answered, puffing on her muzzle.

 

"Holy moly." Jo's eyes were like saucers.

 

“He's ruining the floor!” Dean added, after noticing a pool of red growing on the floor underneath the now sprawling clown.  

 

“That’s what guns do!”  Becky raised her voice to match Cas’s urgency.  “Or bullets, technically.”  She added as an afterthought.  She then turned her sights on the shorter, unnamed clown.

 

“What about this guy?”  

 

“Hold on a minute.”  Cas placed his hand on Becky’s arm, gently, and subtly shook his head “no”, presumably to indicate that shooting an unarmed man would be in poor form.  Meanwhile, Dean hopped over to examine Alistair’s camera, which crumbled to pieces to reveal a small gun inside. The sad clown just rolled his eyes, but Dean held it up with a smile, happy to vindicate Becky in her assault.

 

“Excellent work, everyone.  I especially like the part where you’re all in here, and my men are out there finishing the job.”  The sad clown crossed his arms and smiled, gleefully.  

 

“Sammy!”  Dean’s eyes went wide.  He surged towards the door before stopping short to think.  The clown was either telling the truth, or baiting them all to leave so that he could cut his losses and skedaddle.

 

“We’ve all been patrolling this whole party.  There’s no one else here that’s even remotely suspicious!” Becky piped up.

 

Which is it?  Dean asked Cas with a twitch of his lip.

 

The only thing filling those silly pants is a lot of hot air.  Cas answered with a subtle raise of both eyebrows.

 

Ha ha. You’re right.  And I think I recognize that voice. Dean beamed back with the tip of his tongue on his upper lip.

 

“It’s too bad I’ll never get a chance to tell Sam that he might have lived if you weren’t too busy making goo-goo eyes at some two-bit detecti-”

 

“Aw, seriously, shut up!”  Dean turned the little gun he had confiscated from the tall clown on the sad clown, and pulled the trigger, pegging the man in the shin.  The man’s yowl rang out louder than any gunshot as he fell into a miserable heap on the floor.  Cas licked his own lips, not sparing a glance at the clown.  Becky looked smug.

 

"Aw. You know what? I think I actually like your friends, Clarence." Meg was grinning like the cat who got the canary. Dean shuddered, which was telling, considering he had just shot a man at close range without flinching.

 

"Well. I'm just going to go see if I can catch up with my favorite crybaby, Lilith, now that these clowns are taken care of. Do keep my name out of the press." Meg sauntered around her new friends to exit, opening The door to get an armload of frantic Jess.

 

"I heard shots!" Jess panted as they disentangled. "Whose blood is that?!" She pointed at the puddle under the groaning Alistair, then to the smear underneath the shorter, sad clown. “And that?!”

 

"It's the bad guys'!" Jo assured her with a triumphant hand raise.

 

“I shot that one!” Becky added, pointing with her gun.

 

“Thank god.”  Jess put her hand over her heart and breathed a sigh of relief.  Then she sidestepped a snaking rivulet of burgundy plasma.  “Someone really should call an ambulance.”  She bit her lip.  

 

“Yeah, for your boyfriend.”  Alistair sneered, grimacing as he tried desperately to sit up and sneak out without involving the authorities

 

“Hang on.  Let me put some pressure on that for you.”  Jo said, matter-of-factly, before stomping her foot down on the hole in Alistair’s shoulder.  He fell back to the floor with a thud and a moan.  

 

“Ew.”  Jess offered.  “Are we sure there’s no one else out there trying to get Sam?”

 

Dean and Cas stared at each other and did some quick math.

 

“I don’t believe so.”  Cas assured her.  “And his performance will be ending in a moment, and then Gabriel will escort him back to his dressing room.”

 

Jess looked unconvinced.

 

“We’re 99% sure.”  Dean added.  

 

“Oh.  Well I’m going to go get the police.  And the medics.  And Sam and Gabriel.”  She exited like a girl on a mission.  

 

“Wait! I’ll be your backup!”  Becky shoved her gun back into her purse and high-tailed it out behind Jess.

 

“Well.”  Cas addressed Dean and Jo.  “Let’s see who’s hiding under the sad clown makeup.  He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and tossed them to Dean, who pulled the sad clown’s hands behind his back and secured them.  Jo nodded and found a dish towel next to the small sink by the door. She dampened one corner and approached the subdued, but still bleeding sad clown.

 

“I’m gonna haunt your dreams, girlie.”  The clown threatened.  Jo just scoffed at him and began vigorously scrubbing the greasepaint from his face.

 

“Imma so-a excited.”  Dean mocked in his bizarre Italian accent.

 

“Yes. The anticipation is killing me.”  Cas said in such a gravely serious voice that it could only be a joke.

 

When the would-be killer’s face was clear of most of its makeup, Jo stepped back and eyed him.

 

“Okay, so who is he?”  

 

The former sad clown avoided eye-contact in hopes he wouldn’t be recognized.  

 

“Why, it’s our ‘hypothetical’ friend.”  Cas made air quotes while smiling like they had just found a long-lost cousin.

 

“Mr. Luc Serpico.  I have to give it to ya.  You’re not afraid to do your own dirty work.  According to Chuck you had a pretty slick scheme going.”

 

“And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling queers!”  Serpico spat, then winced as a wave of gunshot pain coursed through his body.  Luckily for him, the medics chose that moment to burst through the doors and start attending to the two wounded crooks.  They were followed closely by a flustered looking police officer in navy blue.  

 

“I’m officer Devereaux.  What the hell is going on here?”  The man demanded from behind tortoise shell glasses, his messy grey hair all askew.  “This is a department store!  Why does it look like a circus massacre? Who's responsible for this?"

 

Just then Jess ushered a very harried Sam through the door and into the fray.

 

"I'm afraid most of this happened on account of me, sir."  

 

"You just got here!" Devereaux bellowed. "I'm specifically looking for information regarding the two shot men!"  

 

Sam gave Dean a helpless puppy-dog glare.

 

Dean and Cas shared one desperate glance in an attempt to line up their stories. The immediate telepathic consensus was to let Becky have her credit, but maybe not recount exactly how cavalier she had been about gunning a man down.   They took turns explaining the situation to Officer Devereaux, who never really did understand what was going on, but seemed content to know that it was not going to be an ongoing issue.

 

"I should have you all arrested." He mused. Jo just gave him her most innocent smile, while Dean and Cas made every effort not to stir up rumors of indecency with their abundant meaningful glances.

 

Gabriel honked his cane in the distance.

 

............................

 

That night they sat in one of the Roadhouse's private dining rooms, eating by reflex alone and barely tasting their food. Ellen, Bobby and even Garth hovered around them, bringing plates of extra French fries out and making sure everyone had full glasses of whatever their chosen poison was.  When the meal was cleared Jo made sure there was plenty of pie, which Dean nearly fell asleep into, at one point.

 

Dean came to life for a moment, after lazily running his finger through the condensation on his beer glass.

 

“Hey, so did ya sell the store, or what?”

 

Sam coughed around a mouthful of salad, but Gabriel was at hand to slap him on the back.  He recovered, clearing his throat with his fist to his lips.

 

“Yeah.  We met with the Angel brothers in the morning, and showed them the corrected sales figures.  They were angry at first, but we agreed on new price and they couldn’t resist.  But it will be a little bit longer before I can get all the funds I need for the conservatory.”

 

Jess reached over and rubbed the back of Sam’s shoulder with a sad look on her face.  

 

“But we sold, and that’s what’s important.  We even got a picture and everything.”

 

He smiled at Dean and Jo, who grinned back with evil glints in their eyes as they were reminded of their afternoon spent ruining hundreds of dollars worth of camera negatives.

 

“All is well that ends well.” Cas added.

 

“Yeah, and I shot a clown!” Becky piped up.  Garth was just putting a plate of cookies in the middle of the table, and his eyes widened comically.

 

“A clown?  I hate clowns!”  He gushed.

 

“Seriously.  Who doesn’t?”  Becky swiped a cookie from the pile and began munching.  “I mean, he wasn’t a real clown.  He was just disguised as a clown.”  She took a moment to chew and swallow. “He didn’t die right?”  Uncertainty crept into her voice for the first time that day.

 

“No.  He is stable, and handcuffed to his bed in the hospital.”  Cas assured her.

 

“Well good riddance, anyway.”  Bobby took a seat at the head of the table and raised of glass of what appeared to be whiskey.  “The world needs less of a-hole’s like them and more idjits like you.”  He toasted, and shot back his drink.  Sam and Dean followed suit with their drinks as a few good-natured eye rolls went around the table.  Ellen stepped over and took an empty seat next to Castiel, and surreptitiously handed him a check.

 

“Your fee.”  She gave him a pointed look.  Cas reached his hand forward at first, automatically, then stopped and looked guiltily at Dean, who was folding his paper napkin into a triangle as Jo held up her fingers across the table in the shape of a field goal.

 

“I’m not sure I …” Cas turned his eyes back to meet Ellen’s.

 

“Nonsense.”  She answered, firmly.  “You watched over both my boys, and now they’re safe and sound.  And I heard about what happened to your office.  I’m a smart woman.  I can overlook the fact that you may have watched one a little more closely than the other.”  winked, and he blushed in response.

 

“Take it, Cas.  I want a new couch.”  Dean leaned into their conversation, and for a moment Cas could smell the high end whiskey on his breath.

 

“Why would I give it to you?”

 

“As payment, for storing all your office shit in my garage.”

 

Dean reached an arm around Cas’s shoulder and jostled him roughly.

 

“Did you hear, Aunt Ellen?  I got a new roommate.”

 

Cas tried to conceal his radiant beaming behind a cough of slight discomfort and some shifty eyes.  Dean let him go with a laugh, clapping him on the back a few times.  Sam looked on fondly, but with a furrow in his brow.  He leaned forward and lowered his voice for Dean’s ears only.

  
“You know, people who know about the old Dean are going to hear you have a roommate and put two and two together.”

 

“So they can add.  So what?  Let ‘em.  You’re a big star, Sammy, and you’re doing good work.  At this point I couldn’t wreck that if I tried.”

 

“Ha.  Well I’ll probably have no trouble ruining it myself.  Or maybe I’ll just fade away like Buddy Bolden.”  Sam answered, his eyes moving across the table.

 

“Don’t talk like that!  You’re a talented musician, and more importantly, you’re a good man.” Jess interrupted, despite the fact that it was clear she was not supposed to be listening.  

 

“Yeah, don’t be so down.  It’s not a great note to hit right before a proposal.”  Becky had mumbled past a mouth full of cake.  She choked when everyone’s eyes hit her.  Gabriel popped up and patted her on the back with one hand, while tossing Sam a velvet box with the other.  Sam bumbled as he caught it.  Dean and Cas gave Gabriel two sets of evil eyes.  Sam and Jess blushed bright red.  Gabriel simply responded by giving everyone a sad puppy look through his eyelashes.  

 

Jo whooped for joy and poured herself a water glass of champagne, which she raised in the air as a preemptive toast.

 

“Just give it to her, already!”

 

“And get on yer knee, boy.”  Bobby added.  Sam gulped.

 

“It would be nice if he had a song prepared.”  Garth whispered to Ellen.  Gabriel overheard, and pulled a small accordion from the depths of his billowy coat.  He began to squeeze out an almost recognizable chorus of Your Face.  Sam gulped yet again and began to get out of his chair and onto one knee.

 

“Holy crap.”  Dean exclaimed, and steadied himself on Cas’s chair.  Just then Sam stood up and gestured for everyone to calm down.

 

“Okay, alright, everyone.  Joke’s on you.  I already asked her yesterday.”  Sam smiled a genuine smile at his family and friends.  He opened the ring box up to reveal that it was empty.  Jess grinned as well, and pulled a shiny diamond ring from behind the collar of her blouse, where she had it strung on a sturdy chain.

 

“We have to get it sized, because a certain assistant’s hands are freakishly large.”  Jess gave Becky a playful pout.

 

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m sturdy.”  Becky retorted.

 

“To new roommates!”  Shouted Jo, and downed her waiting beverage.  Everyone followed her lead, and soon Bobby was excusing himself to find more booze.

 

The party didn’t last much longer, despite everyone’s jubilation, they couldn’t fight the fatigue that eventually overtook them all.  Garth, Gabriel and Becky set off together towards their humble flats.  Jo, Ellen and Bobby retired to their quarters in the hotel.  Sam escorted Jess to her house, to bid her goodnight on her porch under the watchful eye of her mother.

 

Dean and Cas sauntered home on foot, leaving Dean’s baby in the safety of the Singer Hotel car park and opting for a little fresh air.  They were tired enough and drunk enough that they each couldn’t help noticing how the streetlights reflected in the other’s eyes, and the little thrill that went up their arms when their hands brushed together.

 

“So you’re serious about letting me shack up with you?”  Cas mumbled, bashfully.

 

“Serious as a heart attack.”  Dean put his hand over his heart.  “You, uh, planning on sticking around for a while?”

 

“Sure thing.  I’ll be like gum on your shoe.  You’ll have a hard time scraping me off.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”  Dean laughed.

 

“Oh really?  What are you worried about?”  Cas questioned, coyly.

 

“Finding sky blue pumps in your size.”  

 

“Well, lucky for you, I’m a detective.”  

 

…………………………………………………………..

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!  
> I watched The Big Store the other day, and there's so much great physical comedy that the Marx Brothers offer. I really enjoyed this ode to them, and Supernatural at the same time. 
> 
> Also, I'm about to figure out how to add some art that was provided by Mycolour (MYFAVOURITE) so a pre-emptive thank-you for that. Amazing, amazing, amazing. I kick myself every day for not finishing my DCBB fic in time for the deadline - because I could have been in the running for ANOTHER awesome piece of Mycolour art. I really threw away a big opportunity!
> 
> I'm going to TorCon in October (2015) if anyone wants to chat about that or meet up.
> 
> Time flies like an arrow  
> Fruit flies like a banana  
> ~ Grouch Marx


End file.
